Tucson shooting victim ‘accepted everyone,’ only to be targeted for who he was

Vincent Siqueiros liked to sit by the bar with his friends at Venture-N and watch the live feed from the security camera facing the parking lot.

“A favorite pastime of ours,” said Ron Trevizo, Siqueiros’ close friend and roommate. “Every time someone walked by, he would go, ‘Oh! Who’s that? A new friend?’ and immediately want to greet them.” 

That summed up Siqueiros pretty well, according to those who knew him: friendly, fun-loving and eager to meet new people and draw them into the fold.

“If you had a bad day, just sitting next to Vincent, just something he’d say or do, he’d make your day better,” said Luis Kings during a spontaneous vigil outside the long-standing Tucson gay bar on Monday night. “I’m gonna truly miss him, but the friendship I had with him I’m going to cherish forever.”

The 42-year-old was shot to death alongside his friend, 33-year-old Cameron Davis Capara, in the Venture-N parking lot early Monday morning in a murder-suicide police are calling an anti-gay hate crime.

At the gathering in front of the bar Monday night, Angel Montañez remembered Siqueiros as a kind-hearted friend who loved anime and late-night Mexican take-out and always came prepared. 

“He’d always carry a big satchel bag,” Montañez said. “He had chargers, his extra cell phone. He had vitamins. If you needed toilet towelettes, an extra shirt, it was inside his bag. He was that person to say, ‘don’t worry, I’ve got it.’”

Jorge Santos said Siqueiros was one of the first friendly faces he met after he came out as gay, and he was always welcoming, respectful and honest with him.

“I was very scared of coming out. He was that big brother who pushed me into the pool,” Santos said.

Seana Buck met Siqueiros about 10 years ago, when they both got jobs as servers at the Mountain Oyster Club.

They only worked together for a year or so but never stopped hanging out, bonding over shopping, true-crime podcasts, drag shows and trips to the zoo, Tucson Comic-Con and the Greek Festival.

“And we liked to get drinks after work,” Buck said. “We were always up to something.” 

She described her friend as outgoing, clever, loving and “sassy, always sassy.”

“There wasn't ever a time that I brought him around and somebody was like, ‘Hey, don't bring him again,’” Buck said. “Everybody who met him was like, ‘Wow, he's an amazing person.’” 

Siqueiros' family members could not be reached for comment, but his friends told the Star that he was adopted at a young age and raised in a conservative religious household in Tucson, graduating from Desert Christian High School. According to Trevizo, Siqueiros' relationship with some members of his family was strained at times but never broken.

He and Siqueiros became friends in 2012 and started rooming together in late 2022.

As slightly younger men, Trevizo said, they often spent their weekends running “the fruit loop” of Tucson gay bars, but age and the overall social climate eventually made them near-nightly regulars at Venture-N.

“We mostly liked the cheap drinks, atmosphere and our friends,” including their favorite bartenders, he said.

Trevizo had to work on the night of the shooting, but he planned to meet up with Siqueiros at their favorite hangout after his shift ended at midnight. He was on his way home to change clothes when he learned what happened. 

“I immediately drove to Venture but didn’t get much info,” Trevizo said. “I followed an ambulance to Banner, hoping Vincent was on board. He was not.”

Lizzy White stopped by Venture-N on Tuesday morning because she needed to see the scene of the crime and the memorial of flowers and candles that had sprung up to counteract it.

She said she met Siqueiros about four years ago, when the two of them started working together at Doughbird on North Campbell Avenue. Before long, they were going out for drinks after their shifts or meeting up at Skate Country to ride around the rink on adult nights.

She said she learned about the shooting when she showed up for work on Monday and found her manager crying.

Then she worked an emotional 8-hour shift behind the bar at Doughbird, as some of their regular customers heard the news and trickled in to eat and drink in Siqueiros' familiar space.

Later, she said, his sister showed up to collect his things, including his Pokémon cards and the accordion hand fans he liked to wave around.

“Everybody frickin’ loved him,” White said. “He could literally talk to anyone. There’s going to be a huge void.”

She last saw Siqueiros on Saturday, when he came in for his bartending shift brimming with excitement over his latest purchases: some perfume spray and a new pair of Oxford work shoes with cushioned soles and a slight lift to make him look taller.

He was also looking forward to the annual Jungle Party at Venture-N the following Saturday, White said, so she agreed to switch shifts with him so he could go.

“He was always so joyful. He accepted everyone,” White said. “He was probably the last person who should have been targeted for who he was.”