Early on a Monday morning in August 2013, my then 87 year old dad walked out of the house he’d built himself and lived in for 65 plus years, heading out at the crack of dawn to “put the men to work.” He’d been putting the men to work on the farm – sometimes in a cotton field or a field of hay, sometimes to sort cattle, sometimes to pick pecans, sometimes in the shop to fix a tractor, the list of work on a farm is endless – since his early teens.
As he rounded the corner between his house and the garage, he was met by two masked men. Pointing guns.
They knocked him down to the hard cement. With their hands? With a gun? Dad doesn’t remember.
Somehow, these masked gunmen got him back on his feet (or he got himself back on his feet). He was herded at gunpoint back into the house where my 86 year old mother, weighing in at maybe 90 pounds, was sitting calmly at the breakfast table in her gown and robe, eating her daily cereal and doughnut.
And for the next hour or so, these two armed intruders robbed my parents. The younger jittery one kept a gun trained on my parents while the older one with the big lips poking through his ski mask went from room to room filling my mother’s small red and blue duffle bag with guns and jewelry. Dad’s Kindle. Binoculars. A Camcorder.
Before it was repurposed as an armed robber’s loot bag, the duffle bag held my mother’s emergency night clothes and sundries. In case she had to go to the hospital in a hurry one day.
Big lips was on his cell phone the entire time. It appears he was getting his instructions on where to look and what to look for from the “mastermind” who had driven big lips and his accomplice over the canal bridge in his Mustang, dropped them off to hide in the garage, drink bottled water they found in the store room after trashing it, and patiently await my dad. How did mastermind know where to look and what to look for? Ah – he once worked on the farm. And borrowed money he never repaid. And stole thousands of dollars worth of tools from the shop.
A lot went on for that hour or so. At one point, Mom snuck her cell phone into the pocket of her robe and then tried to sneak a phone call. The phone was promptly slammed into the fireplace where it shattered. She was marched twice at gunpoint- still in her robe and slippers – to her bedroom closet to get her purse to turn over a credit card. Dad handed over another credit card and some cash. They were moved from one room to another. The men demanded to know where the safe was. “We don’t have a safe.”
Mom tried to reason with the hostage-takers. “Think about what you’re doing.” “What would your mother say about this?” “Leave now before it’s too late.” “What have we ever done to you?” asked Dad. At one point, Mom offered to write them a check if they would just leave. A check. They took a minute or two to actually consider it.
And then, things took a turn. The gunmen seemed to run out of instructions and purpose and a sense of desperation permeated the house. And Mom had had enough. Figuring she had nothing to lose, she worked her way over to the kitchen sink and started yelling and flailing her hands and coughing and, generally, having a major fit. Jittery guy was clearly shaken. “What’s the matter with her?” “Why’s she doing that?”
Mom ran past jittery guy and out the back screen door. Jittery guy ran after her with his gun zeroed in on her back. Dad ran out the door after jittery guy and around to the front of the house.
“Call 911!”
In all the confusion, they lost track of big lips and the jittery one. So when law enforcement arrived, they operated on the possibility that one or both of the gunmen were still in the house. And law enforcement included the County Sheriff’s Office, the Texas DPS troopers and air support, FBI SWAT and negotiators, US Border Patrol field agents, tactical unit and air support, medical air support, volunteer fire department, life ambulance and Homeland Security.
An elderly couple, in the middle of a pecan field, held hostage and robbed at gunpoint early one morning on the Texas-Mexican border.
Roads were blocked off, helicopters flew overhead, a command center was set up, and law enforcement broke nearly every window in the house, shot tear gas canisters in every room, blasted some type of winged sound grenades everywhere that lodged in kitchen cabinets, threw a patio bench through a plate glass window, kicked in doors and, all in all, completely trashed the house.
No gunmen.
By late afternoon, Mom was still in her robe. Crimes against persons had taken her statement at a house across the field. Other than the nightclothes on her back, everything else she owned was in the house – the house she could not enter because of the tear gas. Exhausted, she demanded, “I want to go check on my house!” “No Mom, the detective said you can’t go back in the house right now. But if you tell him what you want, he’ll go get it for you.” The detective, donning a gas mask, retrieved Mom’s purse and placed it in a black trash bag in the back of her trunk. Don’t touch the purse with your bare hands and keep it far away from you.
Sometime that day, surveillance cameras showed the two gunmen trying to use the stolen credit cards at a Walmart half an hour away and mastermind’s Mustang at a gas station. Two days later, big lips and the jittery one were in custody. Turns out the jittery one was the 16-year-old brother of a 20-year old guy named Hesiquio Perez. Mastermind was identified as Alfredo Trejo (he was already in the system) but was still at large. A deputy sheriff/crime analyst/SWAT bulletin went out to law enforcement.
S.O. BULLETIN 018-2013 – HOME INVASION
A closeup of Gutierrez “CAPTURED” – $150,000 BOND
A closeup of Trejo “WANTED” – $1M BOND
To be considered Armed & Dangerous – *PLEASE USE CAUTION IF ENCOUNTERED*
The detectives felt certain Trejo wouldn’t run across the border to Mexico since he was wanted by “the” cartel/”a” cartel because he’d witnessed a drug-related murder. But, in fact, that is where he hid out for many months until his family talked him into surrendering.
My parents lived in a Motel 8 up the road for over 34+ days. While they waited for their house to become habitable again. Much of the first several weeks were spent sitting at a card table set up in the garage, in the raging August desert heat, running in and out of the house, noses and mouths covered, assessing the damage. Tear gas permeated every sock in every drawer. They ordered an alarm system, new carpet, new drapes, new windows, new doors and kept adding to the list of missing items. The insurance company sent everything out that could be laundered or dry cleaned – towels, bedspreads, underwear, coats, sheets, blouses, shirts, jeans. No matter how many times we wiped off furniture and counter tops and doors and cabinets, black fingerprint dust/grime remained. There were holes in the cabinets that needed to be repaired. We found burns in the carpets and in the drapes from the tear gas and noise bomb canisters. We found empty tear gas and noise bomb canisters everywhere.
And, looming in the background, was the overwhelming sense of vulnerability. This was no random act. This was calculated and intentional. These people knew my parents were alone – in fact, the family was in the midst of a gut-wrenching family crisis and family members had been spending days and weeks at a time at the house for months. But not that particular Monday morning. They knew what time my dad left the house to start the work day. And they had help.
Some of the stolen goods were eventually found stashed at someone else’s house.
It has been almost two years since the robbery. The 16-year old was sentenced as a juvenile and is locked away (hopefully) for a while. Perez and Trejo have been in custody and then out on bail and then “failed to appear” numerous times. Their hearings and jury trials have been scheduled and rescheduled.
In late July last year, the assistant district attorney took Mom and Dad’s testimonies at a deposition held in a courtroom with Perez and Trejo sitting in the jury box in their orange jumpsuits. A guard standing nearby. The ADA had Mom sit in the witness chair and walked her through what had happened almost a year before. Mom described it all in meticulous detail, her voice never waivering.
“Did you invite these men into your home?” “No.”
“Why did you give them your money and credit cards?” “What would you do if someone forced his way into your home and pointed a gun at you?”
“How has this affected you?” Mom leaned forward and directed her response to the two men in orange jumpsuits slouched in their seats across the room. “This was my home, that I’ve lived in most of life. I’ve always felt safe in my own home and now…”
Mom’s testimony was so calm and precise that the ADA did not have a lot of questions left for Dad. When asked if he recognized Trejo, Dad responded that he didn’t really remember him but had been told that he’d loaned money to Trejo with the promise of repayment and, instead, Trejo had just walked off the job and never returned.
Sitting at the defense table were the two defense attorneys; Perez’ defense attorney knew my parents and my family. Trejo’s attorney laughed and fidgeted in his chair and flipped his hair around and, for the most part, made a mockery of the deposition. His arrogance and blatant disrespect for my parents was stunning. Both defense attorneys took turns cross-examining Mom and Dad. Perez’ attorney did not have many questions. Trejo’s attorney just made a fool of himself. The court reporter took it all down. No judge or jury were present. I’m not sure if this is standard procedure but, given my parents’ ages and the time it has taken for the system to take its course, it was important to let them tell their stories on the record.
Two years is a long time when you’re in your late 80’s. Life doesn’t get easier, your body doesn’t get healthier.
Trejo was recaptured and accepted a 20-year sentence. On June 17th, he stood before a judge and pled guilty to one count of Burglary of a Habitation with Intent to Commit A Felony and two counts of Aggravated Robbery. While Mom and Dad’s presence was not required at the plea hearing, the assistant DA offered them an opportunity to attend and make an “impact statement.”
Perez’ jury trial was scheduled for May 18th, two months ago, but his whereabouts are unknown.
An IMPACT STATEMENT?
vivinolavita 