Jury Rebukes Feds: L.A. Tow Truck Driver Beats ICE Interference Charge

Paul Riverbank, 12/21/2025LA jury acquits tow truck driver in ICE case, spotlighting protest, federal reach, and city tension.

Nuñez, after those minutes washed through, found himself seated not in his cab but before judge and jury, the words "theft of government property" hanging overhead. Suddenly, the measure of his days was not in miles but in the threat of ten years’ federal time. The trial—four days—not a marathon in courtroom terms, but for Nuñez it was enough to be freshly acquainted with sweat and worry.

The story here is layered—as LA stories tend to be. Minutes before the tow, Tatiana Martinez, age 23 with a following on TikTok as sprawling as rush hour on the 101, was livestreaming her encounter with ICE agents. She, accused of being in the US illegally (with an old DUI buried in her record), didn’t go quietly, documenting every jostle in the parking garage of the Da Vinci Apartments, right up to being wrestled onto concrete. Viewers from both coasts tuned in; one imagines comment threads ablaze.

ICE had hemmed in Martinez’s sedan with two federal SUVs, lights spasmodic, the situation anything but routine. It was in this chaos that Nuñez’s truck moved in. He hooked and hauled away one SUV, reopening a blocked driveway—at least, that’s how his defenders told it. Prosecutors pressed a much grimmer version: interference, intent, and even a government-issued pistol caught up inside a safe in the backseat. But, perhaps as telling as any evidence, was the brevity of the incident—the tow clocked at under a quarter-hour.

Online, Assistant US Attorney Bill Essayli wasted no breath holding back. “Funny guy thought he could throw a wrench into our operations. Justice awaits behind bars,” he posted, leaving little question where he stood. Inside the courtroom, prosecution seized on tales of Nuñez’s temper: a government affidavit claimed he jabbed Martinez’s door at an agent, cursed, and gave off the sense that the situation could tip. The defense, however, painted him as no more than a blue-collar problem-solver, trying to clear a chaotic driveway.

Jurors, deliberating for a tick past three hours, sided with Nuñez. No conviction. Outside, his public defenders thanked the jury for stepping in “against prosecutorial overreach”—a phrase repeated in city legal circles with increasing frequency these days.

This verdict nibbles at a bigger story thrumming through Southern California: prosecutors have now seen several cases against folks accused of tripping up ICE unravel before a jury. Is it mission creep by federal attorneys, aiming statutes at protest and nuisance alike? Or are these close shaves simply the cost of doing business in a city famed equally for activism and spectacle?

The US Attorney’s reaction was glassy and brief: “The jury deliberated. The trial concluded. No comment.” But on the sidewalks beneath traffic-thick skies, where activism and law meet with greater regularity than perhaps anywhere else in America, the case of Bobby Nuñez lingers. The real drama, after all, wasn’t the missing SUV, quickly restored, but the way protest, policy, and personal liberty still pinch and pull at the hinge of every federal arrest here.

And if you asked anyone on those downtown corners, beneath banners or behind badge, whether the line between wrong and right had grown sharper or blurrier, don’t be surprised if all you get is a glance—perhaps amused, perhaps weary—and the uneasy shrug of a city too used to this friction to be surprised anymore.

You might not expect the whine of a tow truck to be the backdrop for a federal sting, but such was the soundtrack in downtown Los Angeles one simmering afternoon when an all-too-familiar government SUV, lights still cutting through the glare, was rolled right off the scene mid-ICE operation. The vehicle didn’t stay gone for long—it looped back before lunch was cold—but what happened in those few minutes rearranged the life of one Bobby Nuñez, age 33, tow-truck operator, and turned a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mishap into a matter for a jury.Nuñez, after those minutes washed through, found himself seated not in his cab but before judge and jury, the words "theft of government property" hanging overhead. Suddenly, the measure of his days was not in miles but in the threat of ten years’ federal time. The trial—four days—not a marathon in courtroom terms, but for Nuñez it was enough to be freshly acquainted with sweat and worry.The story here is layered—as LA stories tend to be. Minutes before the tow, Tatiana Martinez, age 23 with a following on TikTok as sprawling as rush hour on the 101, was livestreaming her encounter with ICE agents. She, accused of being in the US illegally (with an old DUI buried in her record), didn’t go quietly, documenting every jostle in the parking garage of the Da Vinci Apartments, right up to being wrestled onto concrete. Viewers from both coasts tuned in; one imagines comment threads ablaze.ICE had hemmed in Martinez’s sedan with two federal SUVs, lights spasmodic, the situation anything but routine. It was in this chaos that Nuñez’s truck moved in. He hooked and hauled away one SUV, reopening a blocked driveway—at least, that’s how his defenders told it. Prosecutors pressed a much grimmer version: interference, intent, and even a government-issued pistol caught up inside a safe in the backseat. But, perhaps as telling as any evidence, was the brevity of the incident—the tow clocked at under a quarter-hour.Online, Assistant US Attorney Bill Essayli wasted no breath holding back. “Funny guy thought he could throw a wrench into our operations. Justice awaits behind bars,” he posted, leaving little question where he stood. Inside the courtroom, prosecution seized on tales of Nuñez’s temper: a government affidavit claimed he jabbed Martinez’s door at an agent, cursed, and gave off the sense that the situation could tip. The defense, however, painted him as no more than a blue-collar problem-solver, trying to clear a chaotic driveway.Jurors, deliberating for a tick past three hours, sided with Nuñez. No conviction. Outside, his public defenders thanked the jury for stepping in “against prosecutorial overreach”—a phrase repeated in city legal circles with increasing frequency these days.This verdict nibbles at a bigger story thrumming through Southern California: prosecutors have now seen several cases against folks accused of tripping up ICE unravel before a jury. Is it mission creep by federal attorneys, aiming statutes at protest and nuisance alike? Or are these close shaves simply the cost of doing business in a city famed equally for activism and spectacle?The US Attorney’s reaction was glassy and brief: “The jury deliberated. The trial concluded. No comment.” But on the sidewalks beneath traffic-thick skies, where activism and law meet with greater regularity than perhaps anywhere else in America, the case of Bobby Nuñez lingers. The real drama, after all, wasn’t the missing SUV, quickly restored, but the way protest, policy, and personal liberty still pinch and pull at the hinge of every federal arrest here.And if you asked anyone on those downtown corners, beneath banners or behind badge, whether the line between wrong and right had grown sharper or blurrier, don’t be surprised if all you get is a glance—perhaps amused, perhaps weary—and the uneasy shrug of a city too used to this friction to be surprised anymore.