It was a drizzly, miserable December, 2009 night in Marrero, a small river town located across from New Orleans on the West Bank.
He and his wife are active in their church--she is the youth pastor--and they had gone to services that night.
Upon leaving church, they decided to get something to eat, but the restaurant they chose was closed. Their teenaged daughter was out with friends, and would be coming in soon, so they decided to go home early.
They live in a nice, upper-middle income neighborhood—it is a small development consisting of six dead-end streets, three on each side of a main thoroughfare coming off the highway. When you enter their street, you can only leave by coming back the way you entered. They lived about nine houses down from the corner.
When they turned onto their street, it was about 8:15 PM, still raining. They saw three individuals wearing “hoodies”—hooded sweatshirts--pulled up over their heads. The strangers were at the entrance to their street, walking in towards the dead-end.
They drove past them about 100 yards, pulling into their driveway.
“We were suspicious,” he said. “We waited about 20 seconds in the car, looking for them, but couldn’t see them anymore, and decided to go on inside.”
He carried a Heckler & Koch USP Compact in .40 Smith & Wesson caliber. This is a smaller double-action pistol with a polymer frame and a de-cocker button. It carries ten rounds in the magazine. He had it loaded with Golden Saber hollow point ammunition.
He did not have a round in the chamber. This would prove significant.
His wife had paperwork from church in her hands, and he was carrying the H-K as they exited the car. They did not see the three strangers, so they walked quickly to their front door, unlocked it and he entered first, going to the alarm pad to type in the code.Paragraph
Rest of the Post he punched the keypad, his wife screamed, and he turned to see a man in a hooded sweatshirt forcing his way into the house, a .357 Magnum revolver in his outstretched hand. He was screaming “You’re gonna’ die.”
It’s strange what the mind focuses on in times of stress—he noticed the invader had wrapped cloth around the gun, probably to hide his fingerprints. He realized in a split second of razor-sharp clarity that an armed man had hit his door as his wife was closing it and was about to enter his home—and he basically had an unloaded gun.
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