Steve Guidry, 67, a White man, was at a small heating-and-air-conditioning business on East Person Avenue in Memphis around midday on Saturday, November 18, 2017, when what should have been an ordinary workday turned into a killing. Police were called to the building—described in later reports as “Always On,” a family-run operation—where Guidry was found near the office area with multiple gunshot wounds and pronounced dead at the scene.
Investigators came to believe the shooting happened during a robbery—and that it was set up with chilling patience. According to a later television report, three men arrived at the business asking for help, the sort of request that didn’t immediately raise alarms in a place where customers and walk-ins were common. Guidry’s son and co-worker, Cory, went with them in his work van, following a dark blue Chevrolet described as an Impala or Malibu. Then, the car began driving erratically—running red lights—until Cory lost it, leaving him suddenly separated from the business and from his father. By the time he realized something was wrong and tried calling back, he couldn’t reach him.
What little the public has been told about the suspects centers on the vehicles they used and how quickly they vanished. Detectives learned that a tan or gold SUV was seen on or near the property, while a blue four-door Impala or Malibu was seen leaving around the time of the shooting. The car that drew Cory away was reported to have been captured on surveillance footage, and Cory later pointed out a detail he couldn’t forget—damage that made it stand out, like a left tail light being out. But even that thin thread frayed: the same report said a hard drive that might have held clearer answers was damaged in the shooting, costing investigators a crucial window into who pulled the trigger and who else was there.
In the months that followed, the case hardened into something far worse than a single violent afternoon: silence. Police, according to that February 2018 update, said they had no real lead to name publicly, and only a single call had come in about the blue car linked to the lure. For Cory, grief sharpened into anger—not only at the men who came to his family’s door looking for an opening, but at the emptiness afterward, when tips didn’t flood in and answers didn’t materialize. He remembered his father as the kind of person who would help anybody and loved to hunt, a family man with two sons, five grandchildren, and a great-grandchild who would never know him the way the others did.
Years later, public-facing summaries still described the homicide as a cold case, with investigators continuing to ask for witnesses and anyone with information about the suspects to come forward anonymously. No public updates in those sources describe an arrest, named suspect, or charges filed in connection with Guidry’s death; instead, the official appeals focus on identifying the people tied to the vehicles seen at the scene and reconstructing what happened in the minutes when Cory was led away and the business was left vulnerable.
