This story is part of The Dallas Morning News’ homicide project focused on sharing the stories of all people killed in Dallas in 2024.
FERRIS — Carlos King was once a carefree, goofy little kid who couldn’t seem to sit still.
He was a nuisance at the movie theater at 4 years old, embarrassing his mother as he walked back and forth in front of the screen with no regard for the audience. At random he would play soccer with a bright red clown nose, and couldn’t be beat at a round of Super Mario Bros. Sometimes, his siblings would find out he’d skipped school by looking out the second-story window of their home and spotting him at a nearby park.
Those were simpler times, his family recalled, before Carlos was shaped by life into someone new.
Seventeen years ago, when Carlos remarried, his relatives said he became more and more distant. He was a deeply private man, his brother-in-law Greg Gammill explained, who never wanted anyone to worry about him.
No one knew the extent of what was going on behind closed doors, he said, and none of them thought it would escalate to the point it did — to that final moment outside the front door of Carlos’ home.
“The range of emotions that you feel through that whole thing — the one most overall, at least that I feel, is the helplessness,” Greg said. “You want to do something, you want to scream, you want to lash out, but nothing is going to change anything, anything.”
On April 1, it seemed as if Carlos was feeling the strain of the isolation. He called one of his brothers and told him how much he missed being close to everyone and how badly he wanted things to be different. He promised to reach out again soon.
The next day, Carlos was fatally shot in the 2400 block of Kathleen Avenue in east Oak Cliff. He was 44.
“I’ve been trying to figure out why — why he left us, why that happened to him,” his brother Dante King said. “A lot of bad things happen to great people.”
Carlos’ stepson, 27-year-old Alvaro Vasquez, was arrested in connection with his death. Police wrote in an arrest-warrant affidavit that Vasquez was cloaked in a ski mask and a red-hooded shirt as he waited on the front porch for Carlos to get home.
He declined to speak with investigators. The motive remains unclear.
“It was an act of violence,” Carlos’ sister Dulce Gammill said. “We call it the way it is.”
More than a dozen family members gathered at a relative’s home in Ferris last month to center Carlos’ life in the story of his death. He is one of at least 90 people slain in Dallas this year.
“Memories are what keep us together,” Dulce said.
Carlos worked in construction and had the kind of drive that inspired those around him to go the extra mile. He was so attentive to others, Dulce recalled, he brought a portable stove to work. If a co-worker forgot their lunch, Carlos was ready to step in.
He had a memorable smile, she added, and was always the first to ask how everyone else was doing.
Carlos was also a father of three boys — ages 5, 15 and 16. He loved them beyond measure, Dulce said.
While Carlos and his siblings were a tight-knit group growing up, he was particularly close with his parents, Daniel and Elida King.
“He was always looking for mom and dad,” Dulce said. “Always.”
When Elida would confide in Carlos about something she was going through, he would rush to reassure her, Dulce said.
“Don’t listen to it,” Carlos would say. “Don’t worry about it.”
“He taught us a lesson of compassion,” Elida said.
That bond made telling Elida and Daniel about the shooting one of the hardest moments they’ve faced, Dante said.
“People have no idea of the damage they did and the irreparable harm this does to us,” Daniel said in Spanish. “This threw our family overboard; he destroyed our family, and all the damage he did will not be repaired with jail.”
In the absence of reason, Dante said, they will lean on the values Carlos tried to instill in others: Don’t fret over the small things. Focus on family. Choose love over hate.
“I believe he’s in a better place,” Dante said. “He should be next to God.”
