By the time the bullets slammed into the Tripod Collision & Repair Shop's concrete walls — thwack, thwack, thwack — Gibson Junior Belizaire had nowhere left to run.
Tim Elfrink
Wesley and Guerlyne Belizaire stand near the corner where police killed their brother Gibson.
Tim Elfrink
Candles burn in a memorial to Gibson Belizaire at the site of his death.
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A slight five feet four inches tall and weighing a hair more than 130 pounds, Belizaire crouched into a small corner behind the shop at NW 62nd Street and Second Avenue. The muddy yard flashed red and blue in the swaying, early-afternoon police lights.
A tall chainlink fence had kept the cops at bay for a few hours while Belizaire cradled a gun and thought about his next move. But now, suddenly, the bullets were flying. Crack, crack!
Then the rounds found their mark. One and then two tore through Belizaire's raised forearms. Another nicked his leg. The last thing he might have felt was both shinbones shattering.
When the shooting stopped and the police moved in, the 21-year-old was riddled with 18 bullets. One had burst through his eyeball and into his brain. Two others had made a mess of his temple and the top of his skull. Seventy-seven shells lay on the ground. Belizaire was dead.
One month later, Belizaire's death is mostly a footnote in a hotly debated six weeks when Miami Police fatally shot four suspects in Overtown, Liberty City, and Little Haiti. The killings have left black Miami teetering on a violent edge in a way unseen in a decade and have led community leaders to question new police Chief Miguel Exposito's tactics.
Belizaire's story has never been told in full because, of the four men killed by police, his death seemed the easiest to accept. He had a criminal record, he was armed, and he allegedly fired at police. Breaking precedent from the other cases, MPD never named the cops who shot him.
But senior police sources have confirmed to New Times that among the officers who killed Belizaire were Eric Guzman and George Diaz. Both have troubling records of violence against suspects, and each has killed another man in the past year. Add it up, and his case raises even more questions for the department to answer about this deadly summer.
"Under [former Chief John] Timoney, he preached not to use deadly force unless it's the last alternative," says Larry Handfield, a lawyer chairing a panel formed by city Commissioner Richard Dunn to investigate the shootings. "The new message is, 'We'll take the streets back and meet violence with violence.' That permeates down."
Gibson Belizaire was born March 31, 1989, in Little Haiti. His mother, Julina Belizaire, had emigrated from Haiti to the Bahamas before making her way with Gibson's four older siblings to Miami. His father, Aggerholin Joseph, was long gone by the time he was born.
He grew up poor, moving with his family from one rundown house to another. Julina cared for her children as best as she could, but she was a single mom without much money, so the kids spent a lot of time looking out for each other. "I pretty much raised him," says Elcie Belizaire, his oldest sibling, who now lives in Atlanta. "We all stuck together and kind of helped each other."
Gibson, who was always slight-framed and smart, went to Little River Elementary, Miami Edison Middle, and then North Miami Beach High. From a young age, he looked out for his family, his siblings say. "He was the kind of guy who never had much but would give you his last dime if it'd help," says Wesley Belizaire, his older brother.
But Gibson also had a chip on his shoulder, and his clashes with the law began early. Records show he was booked into juvenile detention in March 2000, when he was just 11 years old, for assault. The next year, he was back for beating up a sports official. Minor arrests followed in 2004 and 2005, for marijuana possession and resisting arrest without violence.
His trouble grew more serious in 2006, when he was 17. On November 16, police pulled over a 2003 Buick LeSabre near NE 75th Street and Second Avenue for an expired tag. As the officer approached, he spotted Belizaire stashing a chrome .38 Rossi handgun under the seat, according to the police report. He was booked for carrying a concealed weapon and stolen property.
Less than a month later, he was arrested again and charged with cocaine possession. Then, on June 20, 2007, cops spotted him in a "well-known" coke-dealing spot on NW 42nd Street. When they approached, he dropped a bag full of crack.
A psychologist examined the 18-year-old before he went on trial for drug charges. The report paints a picture of a bright but confused and angry young man. The doctor found he was "functionally illiterate" but well above average in intelligence and "excellent in math."
"A lack of nurture has fueled the intense anger within him," the doctor wrote. When he showed the teen some Rorschach inkblots representing a mother, Belizaire saw a "moth flying away" and felt sad. The psychologist recommended antidepressants but also cleared him to stand trial. In August 2007, a judge sentenced him to one year of probation.
His last serious charge came in May 2009, when he was booked after trying to buy a bag of pot. He was found guilty but released with time served.
