Alyssa Bethencourt of KTNV Channel 13 Las Vegas begins her report standing near a familiar intersection in the northwest valley – Tenaya and Centennial Parkway – where, she reminds viewers, a retired police chief was struck and killed while riding his bicycle.
More than two years after the crash, Bethencourt says the case returned to court with the same piece of evidence that made it infamous in the first place: the video investigators say captured the moment Andreas “Andy” Probst was deliberately hit.
Bethencourt describes that footage as “almost impossible to watch,” and she notes how it hung over the sentencing hearing like a dark cloud. Even in a courtroom built for hard things, she makes it clear this was a brutal day for the family.
The outcome, though, was finally certain. The two teens at the center of the case – Jzamir Keys and Jesus Ayala – learned how long they will spend in prison.
A Crime Etched Into The Internet
Bethencourt says this case is remembered first for the horrific video that spread online, showing what investigators believe was an intentional attack on a man riding in a marked bike lane.
In her report, Bethencourt identifies the victim as 64-year-old Andreas Probst, known to many as “Andy.” She describes him as someone who was simply biking when, according to investigators, a stolen car came barreling toward him.
Bethencourt includes a chilling detail investigators cited: two people inside the vehicle allegedly wore ski masks – one blue, one red – turning the scene into something that sounds less like reckless driving and more like a staged act of violence.
According to Bethencourt, investigators said 17-year-old Jesus Ayala was driving, while 16-year-old Jzamir Keys sat in the passenger seat recording from inside the car.
That recording, she says, quickly spread online, broadcasting what should have been a private tragedy into a public spectacle.
And that may be one of the ugliest layers of this case: the violence didn’t end with the impact. The recording and sharing kept it alive, forcing strangers to watch, and forcing the family to live with the fact that Andy’s last moments were packaged as content.
Bethencourt reports that court records said Probst died from blunt force trauma to the head and suffered other injuries. Even reading that in cold language is sickening, because you can’t separate it from the image of a bicyclist in a bike lane – someone who had no realistic way to defend himself from a car aimed at him.
The Courtroom Hears The Family’s Pain
Bethencourt tells viewers that when sentencing day arrived, the same video was again at the center of the courtroom. Then, she says, it was followed by emotional statements from the people who loved Andy most.
In Bethencourt’s report, one family member describes learning of his death and says, “The moment I learned of his death, all I could do is scream and yell. It felt as if my heart was just ripped and torn into pieces.”
That is not the language of “closure.” That is the language of a life snapped in half.
Bethencourt also includes another line that cuts through the legal jargon and lands like a punch: “At the end of the day, I miss my dad.” It’s simple. It’s flat. It’s the kind of sentence grief leaves behind when it has burned off everything decorative.
In court, Bethencourt says, the family focused on what they lost and what they will carry forever.
One family member, according to Bethencourt’s report, told the judge that the defendants’ actions didn’t just end a life – they destroyed the family’s life too, and that no sentence could bring him back.
Another statement Bethencourt highlights goes even further, pointing to the recording itself: the family member said they didn’t just kill Andy, they “filmed his murder and released it to the world,” forcing his final terrifying moments into the eyes of strangers.
That part matters because it speaks to something modern courts still struggle to measure. A murder is already devastation. But a murder turned into viral material creates a second wound – a public wound – that never really heals.
Bethencourt includes another line from the family that captures that ongoing damage: “That image haunts me every single day.”
If you’ve ever lost someone suddenly, you understand how memories can become traps. This case adds an extra cruelty: the memory is not only in someone’s mind. It’s a file that can resurface at any time.
The Sentences And The Plea Agreements
Bethencourt reports that Judge Jacqueline Bluth imposed sentences that matched the plea agreements.
Jesus Ayala was sentenced to 20 years to life in prison. Jzamir Keys was sentenced to 18 years to life.
Bethencourt notes that both had pleaded guilty to second-degree murder for intentionally running down the bicyclist with a stolen car.
The “to life” portion is the part that makes people pause. It means they could be eligible for parole after serving the minimum term, but it does not promise they will walk free. It’s a legal structure that gives the state a chance to evaluate who they become after decades behind bars.
Bethencourt makes clear the practical impact: both men will spend decades in prison, and they won’t even reach parole eligibility until after those minimum terms are served.
She also reports that both defendants declined to speak when given the chance.
Sometimes silence can be taken as respect. In a case like this, it often reads as emptiness—or fear, or calculation. Nobody outside their heads can say which. But the family still has to sit there and absorb it.
Bethencourt includes a moment from Judge Bluth that sounds like disbelief mixed with anger. The judge, in Bethencourt’s telling, asks how it’s possible that after seeing a body hit the windshield and roll away, the first thought wasn’t, “Oh my gosh, what have we done?”
That question lingers because it’s the question most people ask when they first hear this story. Not “Why was he biking?” Not “What lane was he in?” Not “What time was it?” The real question is the simplest one: what kind of mindset lets a human being treat another human being like a target?
Bethencourt also quotes the judge saying the sentence may feel like “much more [than] a slap in the wrist,” but that there are no words that can convey the pain caused.
And that’s true even when the punishment is enormous. Prison time doesn’t rebuild a family. It doesn’t undo trauma. It doesn’t scrub a video off the internet.
The Ugly Side Story That Made It Worse
Bethencourt reminds viewers that this case also took a painful turn months after the crash, when the defendants’ courtroom behavior became part of the public discussion.
She describes them in court at an earlier stage smiling, laughing, and making obscene gestures in front of the victim’s family.
Even hearing that description makes your stomach tighten, because it suggests something beyond immaturity. It suggests contempt.
And I think that’s why so many people have reacted so strongly to this case from the beginning. It’s not only the violence. It’s the attitude around it – the feeling that it was treated like entertainment.
That kind of behavior also warps the public’s perception of the justice system. People can accept that courts move slowly if they believe the process is serious. But when families have to watch defendants act like it’s a joke, it makes every procedural delay feel like an insult.
Bethencourt’s reporting brings that context back into focus without dwelling on it. She doesn’t sensationalize it. She frames it as part of what the family has been forced to endure.
What This Case Says About Where We Are
Bethencourt closes her report after the sentences are delivered, but the questions this case raises don’t end at the courtroom doors.
One question is about violence itself – how it can become casual when it’s filtered through screens. When a teen records something horrific, posts it, watches it spread, and still has the nerve to grin in court later, it suggests a kind of moral disconnect that society can’t afford to ignore.
Another question is about deterrence. A sentence of 18-to-life or 20-to-life is heavy. It is not a “get out soon” outcome. But deterrence only works if the people you’re trying to deter are thinking about consequences in the first place.
And that’s the sickest part: the people most likely to commit something like this often aren’t weighing decades in prison in the moment. They’re chasing a rush, a laugh, a clip, a story they think will impress the wrong crowd.
Bethencourt’s report makes it plain that the Probst family will carry this forever. Not just the loss, but the way it happened. Not just the death, but the fact it was captured and shared.
The court did what it could within the boundaries of plea deals and sentencing rules. Judge Jacqueline Bluth handed down decades behind bars. The system delivered consequences.
But the human part – the part that matters most – still sits with a family that lost a husband, a father, and a normal future.
And the rest of us are left with a hard reminder: when cruelty becomes content, the damage spreads far beyond the original scene.
Mark grew up in the heart of Texas, where tornadoes and extreme weather were a part of life. His early experiences sparked a fascination with emergency preparedness and homesteading. A father of three, Mark is dedicated to teaching families how to be self-sufficient, with a focus on food storage, DIY projects, and energy independence. His writing empowers everyday people to take small steps toward greater self-reliance without feeling overwhelmed.
