When Michael Dunn drove his Volkswagen Jetta into a Jacksonville, Florida, convenience store parking lot on the evening of Black Friday, 2012, he noticed loud music coming from a parked vehicle. Dunn told his fiancée, Rhonda Rouer, “I hate that thug music.” Nonetheless, Dunn chose to park next to the vehicle—a red Dodge Durango with three teenage passengers, including seventeen-year-old Jordan Davis.
Dunn stayed in his car while Rouer shopped for potato chips and wine. Annoyed by the blaring music, Dunn rolled down his window and asked the teens to lower the volume. One of the teens complied, but Davis objected, launching into a tirade laced with expletives and, according to Dunn’s uncorroborated claims, threats of violence. Depending on whose testimony you believe, Dunn shouted either “You’re not going to talk to me that way” or “You’re not going to kill me, you son of a bitch!” What remains undisputed is that Dunn reached into his glove box, grabbed a holstered pistol, drew it, chambered a round, and fired multiple times into the red Durango.
Three bullets struck Jordan Davis. One tore through his aorta, and he bled to death within minutes. Dunn later claimed that he saw Davis with an object that resembled the barrel of a shotgun. Dunn testified that Davis was getting out of the Durango before he fired the fatal shots. He claimed self-defense. Investigators found no firearms in the Durango, and the forensic experts disagreed about whether Davis ever opened the rear passenger door. Nearly two years later, a jury found Dunn guilty of first-degree murder.
The shooting of Jordan Davis garnered national press attention. Headlines referred to the incident as the “loud music killing,” and Rolling Stone magazine branded Michael Dunn the “Loud Music Shooter.”
At trial, no one argued that Michael Dunn broke any laws by asking the teenagers to turn down their music. Prosecutors made no credible claims that Dunn was the first aggressor (aside from resorting to his firearm), or that he had purposely provoked the teens with the intention of drawing them into a physical conflict to justify using deadly force. They did, however, suggest that Dunn invited the verbal confrontation. The very first trial witness, Steven Smith, testified he had entered the parking lot around the same time as Dunn. Like Dunn, Smith noticed the red Durango with the loud music, but unlike Dunn, Smith chose to park in one of the empty parking spaces that weren’t directly adjacent to the offending vehicle.
Dunn went out of his way to confront the teens about their music, prosecutors suggested, and it got out of hand. Criminal defense attorney Don West says, “You’re allowed to argue with people. That does not reach the legal threshold of being a first aggressor or the provocateur. The problem is, as we all know from doing this work, that arguments rarely stay in one spot.”
Law enforcement veteran and firearms instructor John Hearne compares a circumstance such as the shooting of Jordan Davis to a collision between a personal vehicle and a big rig truck. “Sometimes you look to the left and see an 18-wheeler doing 70 mph through the intersection and think, ‘I could legally proceed.’ But is that in your clear and best interest? Just because you’re technically, morally, or ethically right does not mean that proceeding into that confrontation is the wisest course of action. If there’s not a win on the table, don’t play the game.”
Perhaps Michael Dunn wanted to make a point about “thug music” when he parked next to the red Durango. Maybe he thought he’d be providing the convenience store patrons a public service by confronting the teens and getting them to turn down the volume. He almost certainly didn’t expect Davis to burst into a rage. But shouldn’t a 45-year-old man anticipate that a teenager might not respond well to a stranger barking orders? Was that a game Dunn thought he would win? Michael Dunn started a needless argument that spiraled out of control.
For Lesson 12, we’ll explore three other cases where an armed defender went out of their way to correct a stranger’s behavior only to find themselves embroiled in a use-of-force incident. We’ll start at the Alaskan Way waterfront promenade in downtown Seattle, Washington, where Gregory Timm shot a disabled busker after accusing the man of falsely claiming to be a military veteran in The Stolen Valor Shooting. Then we’ll return to the now-familiar Clearwater, Florida, convenience store where an argument over a handicapped parking spot ended with the shooting of Markeis McGlockton. Finally, we’ll revisit Wesley Chapel, Florida, where retired police captain Curtis Reeves shot Chad Oulson in the Movie Popcorn Shooting.
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Many of the workers and regulars who frequented the shops and restaurants along Seattle, Washington’s, Alaskan Way Park Promenade recognized 68-year-old Harold Powell—a wheelchair-bound busker who was “usually playing music and bringing a good vibe to the waterfront.” Powell adorned his wheelchair with an American flag and Navy memorabilia, including a faux license plate that read “Navy Veteran.” In the late afternoon on July 31, 2025, Gregory Timm took notice of Powell’s military swag and accused him of “stolen valor.” Powell claims Timm started yelling, “Hey everybody, there’s a fake a** vet.” A few moments later, Timm shot Powell once in the chest.
During the buildup to the shooting, prosecutors claimed that Timm “demanded the victim provide identification to prove his military status.” Bystander video captures Timm saying, “Show me your ID.” As Powell reached for his wallet, presumably to satisfy Timm’s request, Timm “removed a military patch from the victim’s belongings,” according to court records.
“I felt violated,” Powell testified at trial. “I grabbed my knife just in case this guy was going to attack me.” Timm didn’t back down and continued to demand Powell’s military ID. That’s when Powell pulled an Airsoft gun from a holster. “Before the victim could even do anything with it,” prosecutors claimed, “the defendant pulled out his handgun, pointed it at the victim, and shot him point-blank in the chest.” According to the police report, “Timm extends his right arm, takes a couple of steps back, and fires one round from the pistol.” Remarkably, the bullet didn’t strike any vital organs, and Powell survived.
Timm couldn’t have reasonably known that Powell’s pistol was an Airsoft gun. Patrol car footage captures Timm saying, “I’m in shock a little bit … I just shot somebody because he pulled a gun on me, and I’m in the back of a cop car.” He couldn’t believe that he’d be facing charges for defending himself. Prosecutors pushed for a conviction of first-degree assault; the jury delivered a verdict of second-degree assault—plus third-degree theft for stealing the patch.
Prosecutors told reporters that Timm “did not have a viable claim for self-defense because he was the initial aggressor in the conflict.” In a public statement, the King County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office stated: “A key in self-defense cases is who the first aggressor is. If you provoke an attack upon yourself, you lose the right to claim self-defense.” Washington case law, however, establishes that “words alone do not constitute sufficient provocation.” A Washington Supreme Court decision states, “A ‘victim’ faced with only words is not entitled to respond with force.”
No evidence in the public record suggests that the jury seriously considered whether Timm was legally a first aggressor or provocateur. Prosecutor Jeff Dernbach told jurors that Timm “picked a fight that he knew he could win … in which he had every advantage over a man in a wheelchair.” Defense attorney Jesse Dubow argued, “Even if (Timm) was being loud and acting obnoxiously like an a**hole, he still has a right to self-defense.” The jury’s verdict on the lesser-included charge suggests they split the difference on the controversy.
It was not illegal for Timm to confront Powell over his military memorabilia, but it was also none of his business. He started a needless argument that resulted in gunfire. Powell’s lucky he survived, and likewise, Timm is lucky he didn’t face a murder or manslaughter charge. King County Superior Court Judge Karen Donohue sentenced Timm to six months for the second-degree assault, plus a 36-month mandatory firearms enhancement. At sentencing, the judge addressed Timm, saying, “This was a situation, a completely senseless act, entirely of your own making. Mr. Powell was in no way an aggressor or a willing participant.” During his trial testimony, Powell said, “I didn’t do anything to provoke this man … he had no business bothering me.”
By the way, Powell was, in fact, a Navy veteran. His service ended in 1991 after he was struck by a drunk driver. Not only was Timm an “a**hole,” as his own attorney alluded to, but he wasn’t even right.
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As we have revealed in past lessons, Michael Drejka approached Britany Jacobs and chided her for parking in a handicapped spot outside a convenience store in Clearwater, Florida. At trial, Jacobs testified that Drejka told her, “People that park here, I give problems to all the time.” According to Bay News 9, Drejka told detectives that “his pet peeve is when people illegally park in handicapped spots at the store.” Drejka explained that his childhood sweetheart became disabled after an accident and his mother-in-law was disabled. “I always said, my whole life is always looking for a handicapped parking spot,” Drejka told a reporter from jail. “And it just always touched a nerve with me.”
Five months before the shooting, Drejka had a confrontation with a different convenience store patron—Richard Kelly, the operator of a septic truck. According to court documents, “Mr. Kelly recounted that he had parked his company vehicle in the same handicap spot and ran into the convenience store for a soda. Upon returning, Mr. Kelly saw Mr. Drejka lurking around his truck taking pictures. Mr. Drejka confronted Mr. Kelly about the handicapped parking spot. In fact, Mr. Drejka threatened, ‘I should shoot you, kill you.’”
“The confrontation became so heated,” a 2021 appeals court decision states, “that Abdalla Salous, the convenience store manager, intervened to de-escalate the situation. Mr. Drejka responded that ‘I can’t help it. I always get myself in trouble for that.’” When Drejka encountered Britany Jacobs months later, he got in trouble for it.
At trial, Jacobs testified that, during her confrontation with Drejka, she said, “Do you want me to go get my man?” And Drejka replied, “Yes, if he wants to fight.” Jacobs didn’t need to summon her man because Markeis McGlockton came of his own accord. After exiting the convenience store, McGlockton saw Drejka arguing with Jacobs, marched up to him, and violently shoved him to the ground. Drejka sat up, drew his concealed pistol, aimed it at the attacker’s chest, and fired a single fatal round.
As we explored in Lesson 10, Markeis McGlockton committed the first violent act, so Drejka was clearly not the initial aggressor. However, once the jury heard about Drejka’s previous encounter with Kelly, they had some evidence that Drejka may have intentionally provoked the confrontation with Jacobs. The jury learned that, after the confrontation with the septic truck driver, Drejka called Kelly’s boss and said that “if [he] had a gun, he … could have shot [Mr. Kelly].” Prosecutor Scott Rosenwasser called Drejka a vigilante who carried a handgun because he liked provoking confrontations with people parked illegally in handicapped-accessible spaces.
The jury convicted Drejka of manslaughter. It’s unclear whether the jury legally considered Drejka a provocateur. Based on jurors’ public statements, the verdict seemed to hinge on the fact that McGlockton began retreating once Drejka introduced the pistol—and Drejka fired anyway. It’s fair to speculate, however, that Drejka’s decision to start an argument with a stranger over a handicapped parking spot didn’t engender a lot of goodwill with jurors. Whatever benefit of the doubt Drejka earned by being the victim of a physical attack, he squandered by initiating the episode and needlessly involving himself in someone else’s business.
Drejka didn’t break the law when he approached Jacobs about parking in the handicapped spot, but that doesn’t mean intervening was a good idea. During the sentencing hearing, the judge called Drejka a “wanna-be” law enforcement officer and self-appointed “handicapped parking space monitor.” The judge also noted that when Drejka exited his vehicle to confront Jacobs, he himself was illegally parked.
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Curtis Reeves became a police officer in 1966. He rose to the rank of captain before retiring from the Tampa Police Department in 1993. During his time on the force, he served a stint as a homicide detective. According to reporting by CNN, Reeves was “frequently called upon to develop and implement department-wide programs concerning firearms and civil disorder,” and he proved “instrumental in establishing the department’s first tactical response team.” Reeves led that tactical response team for Vice President George H.W. Bush’s 1987 visit to Tampa. After retiring from the force, Reeves worked as director of security at Busch Gardens Tampa until he retired in 2005.
Nine years after retirement, Reeves shot a man in a Wesley Chapel, Florida, movie theater during the previews for a matinee screening of Lone Survivor. Reporters scoured Reeves’ record. The worst they found was a 1968 reprimand for carelessly handling a city weapon, and, early in his career, a supervisor’s note that he had “a tendency to be impatient.” Reeves, no doubt, encountered many difficult characters in his career, but as he told jurors at his murder trial, he never needed to fire his weapon in the line of duty. Reeves’ wife, Vivian, told detectives, “He’s never threatened anybody with a gun.”
On Monday, January 13, 2014, 71-year-old Reeves encountered 43-year-old Chad Oulson and his wife, Nicole, at the Cobb Grove 16 movie theater. The Oulsons sat directly in front of the Reeves’. During the previews, Chad Oulson had a text exchange with the couple’s babysitter. Annoyed with Oulson’s cell phone use, Reeves asked him to put the device away. Nicole Oulson said her husband responded, “What’s your problem? The movie hasn’t even started yet.” Reeves claims Oulson responded by telling him to “get the f**** out of my face.”
Nicole Oulson said Reeves “had confronted my husband several times, which my husband ignored and ignored and ignored.” Vivian Reeves said she suggested, “Let’s just move,” but the couple was expecting their son to join them at any moment, and they had already explained where they were sitting. Instead of changing seats, Reeves decided to report Oulson’s cell phone use to the manager.
When Reeves returned to his seat, Oulson had completed his text exchange and put his phone away. Reeves said, “If I had known you had put your phone away, I wouldn’t have involved the manager.” Nicole Oulson testified that she thought, “Why is this still going on? The phone was away. This should be over.” But it wasn’t over. Vivian Reeves told detectives that “He (Oulson) stood up and leaned over and said, ‘Who the **** do you think you are?’” In his testimony, Reeves said, “He was a threat that was very close to me. He was reaching for me or trying to get over the seat again. I couldn’t get up. I was trapped.”
At one point during the confrontation, Oulson swiped Reeves’ bucket of popcorn, sending pieces flying. Reeves drew his .380-caliber Kel-Tec and fired a single shot. The bullet went through Nicole Oulson’s hand, which she had placed on her husband’s chest—presumably in an attempt to restrain him. Then the bullet entered the left side of Chad Oulson’s chest, killing him.
For the next eight years, Reeves awoke each morning wearing an ankle monitor while he endured a criminal prosecution. On February 25, 2022, now 79 years old, while he waited for the jury’s verdict, Reeves removed his wedding ring and gave it to his wife in anticipation of a conviction. To his apparent surprise, the jury acquitted him on all counts. In the hours after the shooting, Reeves told detectives, “If I had it to do over again, it never would have happened. I would have moved.”
As an alternative to moving, Reeves could have been more patient and waited for Oulson to finish his text exchange before intervening. Don West says, “In some ways, I think he wanted to win this interaction. He wanted Chad Oulson to put his phone away and probably apologize for it. He was smart enough and careful enough to go to the manager, but not smart enough or careful enough to move.” Reeves didn’t break the law by asking Oulson to put his phone away, but pressing the issue—especially after Oulson had finished the text exchange—wasn’t the wisest course of action. Curtis Reeves started a needless argument, and it ended in tragedy.
During trial, Thomas Peck, who worked as the general manager at the Cobb Grove 16 movie theater on the day of the shooting, told jurors that the no-phones rule is only enforced during the actual movie, not the previews.
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Jordan Davis, Harold Powell, Markeis McGlockton, and Chad Oulson weren’t without fault; they all contributed to the circumstances that led to the shootings. But that’s small consolation to Michael Dunn as he serves a life sentence without parole, or to Michael Drejka, who will be deep into his 60s by the time he’s released. Curtis Reeves spent six months behind bars before a judge granted him a $150,000 bond, and he wore an ankle monitor for almost twice as long as the prison sentence handed down to Gregory Timm.
If we look back at the defenders we’ve explored in previous lessons, we see this pattern repeating. When Ronald Gasser chased Joe McKnight in a five-mile tit-for-tat road rage incident, he was probably hoping to get McKnight to apologize for cutting him off. When Gerald Strebendt apparently brake-checked David Crofut on the Bob Straub Parkway, he was probably expressing his frustration at Crofut’s slow driving. When Daniel Perry drove his car into a crowd of protesters, he was likely fulfilling a desire to confront Black Lives Matter marchers. Each of these defenders needlessly instigated a confrontation that led to a controversial self-defense shooting.
Each of these shootings was a tragedy for everyone involved, and each defender could have easily avoided the shootings if they had chosen not to correct the social infractions committed by strangers. The lesson isn’t that armed defenders should never intervene when someone is acting inappropriately, but they should understand that initiating a confrontation could trigger unintended consequences. As an armed defender, you’ll have to use your own judgment to determine whether intervening with a stranger is worth the physical and legal jeopardy that could result.
Each of the offenders in the cases we explored in Lesson 12 violated relatively minor social norms—except Powell, who was falsely accused of stolen valor. The defenders in these cases, as Michael Drejka admitted, reacted to personal “pet peeves.” We have ample evidence to suggest that the shooters in each of these cases welcomed a verbal confrontation, hoping to win an argument—and they received more than they bargained for. This is a behavior that John Hearne describes as “kicking over rocks looking for snakes.” As an armed defender, before you initiate a potentially volatile conversation with a stranger, ask yourself if you’re intervening to prevent a serious negative consequence, or whether you’re just looking for trouble by starting a needless argument.
