Man shot to death on way home from second job: 'All he did was stay home and go to work'

Aug. 20--Isaac Acevedo Jr. would work one job, go home for about an hour, then go to his second job. Almost every day of the week.

At 23, Acevedo owned two cars and a house he bought for himself, his parents and two younger sisters, ages 21 and 14. He worked as a welder and a cashier at Walgreens to pay his bills, at times putting in 16 hours a day, his family said.

Acevedo was on his way home from work around 1:10 a.m. Thursday, still wearing his Walgreens shirt, when he was killed in a drive-by shooting in Logan Square on the Northwest Side.

"I don't understand what happened," said Acevedo's mother Araceli Garcia, 40. "All he did was stay home and go to work."

Police said Acevedo's girlfriend was driving him home when a white SUV began following their Mazda and tried to crowd the car off the road, according to police and relatives.

Near Central Park and Schubert avenues, the SUV pulled alongside the Mazda and someone inside fired shots, police said. Acevedo was struck in the chest and pronounced dead at the scene, police said. His girlfriend was cut by broken glass.

Neighbors said they heard about three gunshots and a woman's screams. One saw paramedics walk Acevedo's girlfriend, dressed in pajamas, into an ambulance.

Acevedo's license was suspended because of a traffic violation, but he had no criminal background and no gang affiliations, according to police, who said Acevedo may have been mistaken for someone else.

Garcia and her husband Isaac Acevedo Sr., 43, stood in a cluster of family members and friends near yellow and red crime tape that surrounded the place where her son was shot dead. Relatives hugged each other and burst into tears as more family showed up.

Garcia and other relatives said Acevedo Jr. spent almost all his time helping out his family after he graduated from high school. His father had to stop working recently because of a tumor, so the family had to rely on their eldest child even more.

"He was a busy guy, he liked to work," said Acevedo Sr. "But he would always come home."

Acevedo Jr. also did the heavy lifting around the house, his parents said: Repairing the dishwasher, fixing the family's cars.

"He was my only son," Garcia said as she wiped her tears with a white tissue. "What am I going to do?"

A police sergeant lifted the crime tape and walked over to them. Garcia asked quietly if they could cover her son's body with a sheet.

"We have to leave the scene in pristine condition right now," the sergeant explained.

"Police have to follow procedure as close as possible. ... I know it hurts," said another officer standing near the scene. "I'm sorry. But right now, there is evidence there. Maybe we can cover him up once (the process) is complete."

About half an hour later, Acevedo's grandmother and grandfather walked over, weeping.

"Que paso? (What happened?)" said Acevedo's grandmother as she hugged Garcia, gasping for air as she sobbed. "Dios mio. Dios mio."

A chill breeze rattled the crime scene tape. Acevedo's father draped a jacket around the grandmother's shoulders.

About 15 family members spoke to each other in hushed Spanish as they watched officers examine the scene.

Seven or eight relatives, including Acevedo's parents, stood at the southwest corner of the crime scene, their eyes fixed on Acevedo and his car.

When an evidence van blocked their view, they moved across the street. When a police SUV got in their way, they moved to the eastern edge of the scene. A few moments later, a morgue van arrived and the family moved farther north for a better view.

Around 4 a.m., after workers removed Acevedo's body, a tall detective walked up to Garcia and handed her the keys to the shot-up Mazda.

"Best to you and your family," he said. "You have our number. Contact us if you need anything."

Garcia quietly took the keys and thanked the detective under her breath. Someone cut the crime scene tape in front of her and it fluttered away in the wind.

"What now?" she said.

"We have to arrange a funeral," one relative said.

A wave of agony washed over Garcia's face. She took a deep breath.

Garcia's older daughter got into her brother's car and drove it away.

"Come on, let's go home," Acevedo Sr. said to his wife.

The two hugged and started walking with other relatives back to their cars.

@chachkevitch

@Crepeau