Gunfire Erupts at In-N-Out: The Frantic Midnight Chase That Ended in a Deadly Shootout – Real Bodycam Breakdown

It was supposed to be a quiet Saturday morning shift at the In-N-Out in Laguna Hills, the kind where the drive-thru line snakes around the lot and the air smells like fresh fries and animal-style burgers. But at 1:15 a.m. on September 20, 2025, that parking lot turned into a war zone straight out of a Michael Mann flick. What started as a routine license plate ping about a stolen SUV linked to a fresh homicide in Carlsbad exploded into one of the most intense police confrontations Southern California has seen this year. This isn’t some grainy TikTok clip—it’s raw dashcam, bodycam, and chopper footage released just weeks ago by Newport Beach PD, showing every frantic radio call, every muzzle flash, and the gut-wrenching aftermath when the smoke clears.

Let’s rewind to where it all ignited. A few hours earlier, around 10 p.m. the night before, chaos had already unfolded in Carlsbad, about 60 miles south. A woman—whose name hasn’t been publicly released pending family notification—is ambushed in her apartment complex parking lot. Witnesses heard screams, then gunshots. The victim, gunned down in cold blood during what investigators later confirmed was a brazen carjacking, slumps to the pavement as her white SUV peels out, tires screeching into the night. The shooter, a 31-year-old local named Andre Anthony Matijasevic from nearby Rancho Santa Margarita, vanishes into the dark. No clear motive yet—cops are piecing together if it was random desperation or something more personal—but by midnight, that SUV’s plates are lighting up automated readers like Christmas lights.

Cut to 12:36 a.m. Newport Beach PD dispatch crackles to life: “Stolen vehicle alert, tied to Carlsbad homicide and carjacking. Last ping: East Coast Highway.” Two marked cruisers, lights off for now, spot the SUV cruising near Newport Coast Drive. Officers in full uniform—badges gleaming under streetlights—flip on the blues and pull alongside. “This is Newport Beach PD, pull over,” the PA blares. But Matijasevic? He punches the gas. What follows is a 20-minute highway ballet gone horribly wrong, the kind that makes veteran troopers swap stories over coffee for years.

The pursuit jumps onto the southbound I-5, that endless ribbon of concrete snaking through Orange County’s sprawl. Matijasevic weaves like a pro, hitting 110 mph easy, the stolen SUV’s taillights blurring into red streaks on dashcams. Newport Beach calls for backup—standard protocol—and an Irvine PD K-9 unit slots in like a wingman, their cruiser’s grille pushing close for a potential PIT maneuver. Radio chatter fills the void: “Suspect’s armed and dangerous, Carlsbad confirmed one down. No lights on his end.” Chopper overhead from OC Sheriff’s Aviation, call sign “Eagle One,” paints the scene from above: “He’s exiting at El Toro, eastbound.”

Laguna Hills isn’t ready for this. It’s a sleepy suburb of tract homes and strip malls, the kind of place where the biggest drama is a fender-bender at the Target. Matijasevic blasts through a business plaza—tires chewing up landscaping rocks, scattering trash cans like bowling pins—then hooks east on El Toro Road. Approaching Avenida de la Carlota, that fateful intersection right by the In-N-Out, he yanks a hard left. Abrupt. Desperate. The SUV skids to a halt across all lanes, blocking traffic like a barricade in a zombie movie. Doors fly open. And that’s when the world tilts.

Bodycam from Newport Beach Officer #1 catches the first shot—Matijasevic’s handgun barking from the hip as he bails out. Muzzle flash lights up the empty street like fireworks nobody wanted. Bullets ping off the cruiser’s door panels; one shatters the windshield in a spiderweb of safety glass. “Shots fired! Shots fired!” the officer yells, voice steady but edged with that copper-wire tension you only hear in the real deal. He drops to a knee behind the door, Glock up, squeezing off controlled bursts—pop-pop-pop—aiming center mass as protocol demands. The suspect’s not stopping. He’s running now, full sprint toward the In-N-Out’s glowing golden arches, gun swinging wild.

Inside the restaurant, it’s pandemonium frozen in time. Late-night crew—teens slinging patties and shakes—hear the pops and hit the deck. Customers, maybe a dozen at this hour, dive under booths, phones out but hands shaking too hard to dial 911. One viral clip from a patron’s shaky cell shows trays of half-eaten Double-Doubles sliding off tables as bodies huddle. “Oh my God, they’re shooting outside!” someone whispers. Matijasevic crosses the street, still firing over his shoulder—rounds chewing up the patrol cars’ grilles, one clipping a tire with a hiss. He’s 20 yards from the door when the return fire tags him. Legs buckle. He crumples in the parking lot, asphalt biting into his back.

But he’s not done. Bodycam #2 zooms in: Matijasevic rolls to his side, propped on an elbow, gun hand steady as he aims back at the officers advancing in a tactical wedge. “He’s still shooting! Cover!” Sgt. Steve Oberon barks from the line, his voice cutting through the din like a knife. The audio’s a mess—overlapping gunfire from four officers, the K-9 handler yelling “Aus!” to hold the dog— but you can make out the suspect’s final pops, muffled under the roar of 9mm responses. Up to 40 rounds exchanged, witnesses later told reporters, echoing off the stucco walls like thunder in a cul-de-sac. Matijasevic slumps, gun clattering free. Silence drops like a guillotine.

The approach is textbook nightmare fuel. Irvine’s K-9— a snarling German Shepherd named Rex or something equally badass—leads the stack, hackles up, as officers fan out with long guns leveled. They close the gap in seconds, kicking the handgun away like it’s a live grenade. No pulse check yet; protocol first. One officer drops to his knees, starting chest compressions while another slaps on a tourniquet for a leg wound gushing dark. “Suspect down, need EMS now!” Radio call goes out, and within minutes, paramedics swarm the lot, turning the burger joint’s spillover into a makeshift trauma bay. Matijasevic, hit multiple times in the torso and limbs, gets loaded onto a gurney and rushed to Mission Hospital in Mission Viejo. Pronounced dead on arrival. No heroes’ parade, just another file stamped closed.

The aftermath ripples out like aftershocks. No officers hurt, miracle of miracles—though cruisers look like they lost a cage match with a hailstorm. Civilians? Shaken but unscathed; the In-N-Out reopens by noon, slinging free shakes to first responders as a quiet thank-you. Carlsbad PD ties up the loose ends: the victim was April Moore, 28, a graphic designer heading home from a girls’ night, gunned down for her keys and a full tank. Matijasevic’s rap sheet? Petty priors, escalating to this. No manifesto, no manifesto—just a guy who chose wrong one too many times.

Videos like this don’t just rack up views; they stick. Released November 4 as part of transparency push after the usual internal review, the footage hit like a gut punch. OC Register called it “harrowing,” KTLA warned “viewer discretion advised,” and social media? A storm. #InNOutShootout trends for 48 hours, memes mixing Double-Doubles with bullet casings (dark humor, SoCal style), but underneath, real talk: How does a routine stop turn into this? License plate readers saving lives? Or just tech turning suburbs into speed traps? Cops get props for restraint—firing only when fired upon, rendering aid the second the threat drops—but the debate rages. Bodycams don’t lie, but they don’t explain the why either.

For the families, it’s not footage; it’s finality. April’s memorial draws hundreds, purple balloons tied to her SUV’s empty spot. Matijasevic’s? A quiet graveside, whispers of “what if.” And the officers? Back on patrol by shift’s end, scanning plates, hoping the next ping’s just a parking ticket.

In the end, this isn’t entertainment. It’s a reminder that under those golden arches, life’s fragile as a fry. One bad turn, one pulled trigger, and breakfast becomes breaking news. Watch if you dare—but maybe grab a burger first. Double-Double, animal style. Hold the onions.