Eventually Mario saw two teenage boys, Peter Cantu and Efrain Perez, emerge from the cluster. Peter headed in his direction, just off to his side. As the two boys passed each other, Peter purposely bumped into Mario.
“Excuse me,” Mario said to Peter in a very quiet voice, “why did you bump into me?”
Instead of apologizing, Peter immediately whipped around and got into Mario’s face. “You got a problem with that?”
“No,” said the nervous Mario.
Peter could not let it go. “You got a problem with that?” he shouted at Mario again. He moved in closer and shoved the boy in the chest with both hands.
“You bumped into me,” Mario responded. “Why can’t you say, ‘Excuse me’?”
Peter pushed Mario again. This time, Mario pushed back and shouted, “Get off me!”
“Kick his ass, Pete,” Efrain egged his friend on. “C’mon, man. Fight him. You can kick his ass.”
“I’m on my job,” Mario said, trying to reason with the two teenagers. “I can’t fight him while I’m on the job.”
“C’mon, man. Let’s go.” Chris tried to get Mario out of the confrontation.
“Let’s go,” Peter mocked Mario as he closed in to fight him. He grabbed the boy’s shirt and then reached around his back and pulled out a butterfly knife and flipped the blade open. Peter swiped the blade in Mario’s direction, but not before Chris saw what was happening. He grabbed his friend and pulled him away just in time before Peter would have sliced Mario open.
The two boys began to walk away. After they put some distance between themselves and Peter and Efrain, Chris told Mario to stop.
“Let me take a look at that,” Chris said. “I want to see if you are bleeding.”
Mario showed his arm to his friend. His shirt had been sliced open from Cantu’s knife, but there was no blood.
“Dude, you got lucky,” Chris said. “You would have had to go to the hospital if he cut you.”
Mario shook his head in disbelief. He was as scared as he had ever been.
“Let’s go find a security guard,” Chris suggested.
The two boys located Gary Leslie, an off-duty eighteen-year-veteran Houston police officer who worked security gigs for additional income. They told him what had occurred, and all three went looking for Mario Harkles’s attacker.
It did not take long to locate Peter Cantu. Mario pointed him out to Officer Leslie. They watched as Peter bumped into yet another Astrodome patron and started to pick a fight. Leslie walked toward Peter and pulled him aside.
Officer Leslie took a whiff of Peter’s breath, which smelled like a brewery. “You been drinking?” he asked the teenager.
Peter grinned like a Cheshire cat and did not answer.
“Did you get someone to buy some beer for you?”
Again, he kept on smiling.
“Did you pull a knife on someone?” Leslie asked.
“No, man,” sneered Peter, no longer smiling.
“Do you have a knife on you?”
“No,” Peter lied.
“I need to check you,” the guard informed Peter.
Peter practically spat at Leslie.
The officer grabbed Peter, spun him around and up against a wall, and made him spread his legs. He then frisked the teenager and, sure enough, found the butterfly knife in Peter’s right front jacket pocket. It had a six-inch-long blade with a double edge.
Peter Cantu would later be charged with a felony offense of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. His punishment consisted of four years’ probation with no jail time. He was told to avoid “injurious and vicious habits” and was placed on a curfew and not allowed to leave his home from midnight to 5:00 A.M. The final requirement for his probationary status was to get enrolled in a study program to prepare for the GED.
At Peter’s second probationary meeting, and first with Probation Officer Andy Turboff, he discussed how he felt about the assault on Mario Harkles.
“I wish the cop wasn’t there. I would have stabbed him,” Peter stated defiantly.
Peter’s bad behavior continued over the next three months despite being on probation. In February 1993, he was busted for smoking marijuana discovered via a urine test for drugs. In March, he was charged with jumping a man in a Burger King parking lot. In April, he assaulted a drunk man in a parking lot. His bad-boy behavior had only gotten worse.
In May 1993, Peter Cantu went to visit his former auto mechanics teacher, Joseph Malveaux Jr., at the Harper Alternative School campus in the auto repair shop. Peter respected his former teacher and believed he could tell him anything without being judged. Malveaux liked Peter and knew he could have a good career in auto repair if he wanted.
The two caught up with one another.
“How ya doin’, Peter?” Malveaux asked his former student.
“Oh, I’m all right,” Peter replied.
“Well, what have you been doing? Are you working? You got a job?”
“Nah,” Peter replied nonchalantly.
“Well, are you coming back to school?” Malveaux wanted to know.
“No, I don’t think so, man. School can’t teach me nothing.”
“Okay, man,” the teacher responded.
After nearly three minutes went by, Peter Cantu looked Malveaux directly in the eyes and made a surprising revelation to his former teacher.
“You know, Malveaux, I think I’d like to kill somebody just to see what it felt like,” he declared.
Malveaux paused momentarily and looked directly back at Peter, “Why? Why would you even think something like that? Do you realize what the law will do to you if you were to do something like that?”
Peter replied that he did not care.
Malveaux did not think much about what Peter Cantu had told him. He assumed his former student was simply trying to be a badass in front of him.
One condition of Peter Cantu’s probationary status for the Astrodome attempted assault was to report to Probation Officer Andy Turboff twice a month. He was considered Tier 2 status, which meant he had more intense supervision requirements than the normal probationer.
Peter described himself to Turboff as “an ordinary teenager going through the ’90s.” He also said he liked his parents, they taught him right from wrong, and they thought he could be a good kid when he wanted to be. He admitted they never abused him, and when they punished him, it was only with a grounding. He also added he did not like his own temper and he didn’t “care too much for people except for children and older people.”
Turboff encouraged Peter in his pursuit of the GED and also suggested violence counseling. Neither was required and Peter chose not to pursue either one of them.
Peter Cantu had also been required to perform a total of 240 hours of community service. As of this day, he had completed zero hours.
Thursday, June 24, 1993
Houston, Texas
Peter Cantu visited with Craig McNaughton, his latest probationary officer. As usual, he declared the meeting a total waste of time.
Chapter 8
Thursday, June 24, 1993—6:00 P.M.
Cantu residence
Ashland Street
Houston, Texas
After a couple of minutes, Peter Cantu finished up tinkering with his pickup truck and headed toward his house. He was having a good day. His parents were on vacation, and Thursday was his usual day off from work.
Efrain Perez and Raul Villarreal followed him inside. Once inside, sure enough, Cantu had plenty of beers. He opened up the refrigerator, grabbed two bottles, and handed one to Perez. He ignored Raul.
“Dude, he’s cool,” Perez stated again. Cantu merely smirked and walked away from the fridge. Perez instead went to it and got a cold beer for Raul. He handed it to him and the three stood silently and drank their beers.
“So what’s the deal with you guys?” Raul wanted to know more about Perez, Cantu, and their other buddies.
“What do you mean by that?” Cantu snapped
at him.
“No, dude, I don’t mean no disrespect. I just heard you guys do a little running together with some of your other boys,” Raul said as he tried to calm Cantu down.
Cantu simply stared at the newcomer. “Why don’t you tell him.” Cantu glanced toward Perez.
“You mean, like Black ’n White?” Perez directed toward Raul.
“I guess, man. I just heard you guys were like in a gang or something.”
Perez and Cantu stopped and looked at one another. They never did call what they had with their friends a gang. They were simply a bunch of best friends who all had one another’s backs in case anything went down. They jokingly referred to themselves as the Black ’n White gang, but they knew there was no such thing.
Cantu smiled at Raul. “Yeah, we’re in a gang,” he told the younger boy. “But you could never be in it. You’re too much of a pussy.” His smile grew broader as he took another sip of beer.
Raul took his own sip of liquid courage as he shot back, “You wanna bet I can kick everyone of y’all’s asses all by myself?” He drew another long sip from the beer bottle.
Cantu started to nod his head and jut out his lower lip. “We would beat your ass. Hell, I could beat your ass.”
Raul, who stood a couple of inches taller than Cantu, began to size him up. He felt confident he could take him. “I bet I can kick each one of your asses.” He laughed and added, “Why don’t we prove it?”
“All right,” Cantu agreed. “All right, my man. You got it. Only we do things differently in the Black ’n Whites.”
“Yeah, what is that?” Raul asked.
“You gotta take all of us on. If you’re still standing after we kick your ass, we’ll let you in. If you don’t”—Cantu paused and smiled at Perez, then Raul—“well, you can go home and cry to your mommy that you got your ass beat down, bitch.”
“Let’s do it,” Raul bravely responded. He seemed a bit more nervous as he took yet another long, hard swallow off the beer bottle. He finished his before either of the other two young men and reached into the fridge himself this time for a second beer.
“In due time, son,” Cantu stated. “In due time.” He then looked at Perez and said, “Let’s go see what Joe’s up to.”
Cantu was referring to his next-door neighbor Joe Medellin.
Cantu, Perez, and Villarreal headed out of Cantu’s house and walked across the lawn to Joe Medellin’s garage. Cantu knew that Joe’s was the place to be, since his garage was fully stocked with alcohol. The evening was still young and there were plenty of adult beverages to be consumed. Once inside the garage, everyone helped themselves to drinks. They were soon greeted by Medellin.
“What the fuck is up?” Medellin asked Cantu. He glanced over at Raul Villarreal and frowned. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked the much taller and heavier new guy.
“I’m gonna be the next Black ’n White,” Raul eagerly responded.
Medellin raised his left eyebrow at the claim. He stopped, looked up at Cantu and Perez, then over at Raul. He then snorted a derisive laugh and said, “Oh, really? That’s very interesting. Why the fuck would we want you in the Black ’n Whites?”
“Well, I’m bigger than all of you guys and I can fight anyone,” he bragged. “I can get your back if we ever get into a big fight.”
Medellin grabbed a drink, took a swig, and simply said, “We’ll see about that.” He looked at Cantu, winked, and headed back into his family’s house.
“So what’s his deal?” Raul wanted to know more about Medellin.
JOSE “JOE” ERNESTO MEDELLIN
Chapter 9
Jose Ernesto Medellin was born on March 4, 1975, in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, to his parents, Maria Felipa Medellin and Venancio Medellin Armendariz. Maria was only fifteen years old when she gave birth to Jose.
One year later, the Medellins had another child, and also named him Jose—Jose Martin Medellin.
Two years later, on December 13, 1978, Maria Felipa Medellin gave birth to another boy, whom they named Venancio Medellin Jr. They nicknamed him “Yuni,” which meant Junior.
The following year, the Medellins gave birth to their first daughter, Deanida.
That same year, 1979, Jose’s father came to work in the United States. His reason for emigrating to Houston, Texas, was “to take a chance and opportunity at a brighter future.” He would eventually earn a green card and become a naturalized citizen. He also landed gainful employment with a company that “made parts for petroleum.”
It is unclear as to whether or not Maria Felipa Medellin came to the United States with Venancio Sr. in 1979. It is known that Joe did not come to Houston until 1984, when he was nine years old.
What is known for sure is that Maria Felipa Medellin was a stay-at-home mom who took good care of her children. Maria understood that for her children to succeed in America they would need to learn English. Eventually all of the kids would learn the language; however, only Spanish was spoken in the Medellin household. Neither Maria nor Venancio Sr. could speak English.
The Medellins also made sure their children learned the difference between right and wrong. They were taught to be respectful of others and to treat people kindly. Though the family was not wealthy with material possessions, they shared a wealth of love and support that would keep them going forward even during the most difficult times.
To confuse matters with the Jose naming debacle, his parents began to call him Ernesto. He was not happy about the name change, but he suffered through it. As he got a bit older, he wanted to be known as Joe. Not Ernesto, not Jose. Joe.
The kids tended to keep their noses clean in their younger days. His brother, Jose Martin, and his sister, Deanida, were wonderful children who never got into any trouble. His baby brother, Yuni, was also a good kid who eagerly looked up to his oldest brother.
Later in Joe’s life, he would remember his early childhood as his favorite time. Apparently, however, he developed an edge at a very early age. “The last time I had a real friend was when I was five or six years old. At that time, you still have trust in everyone.”
In addition, Joe’s parents never walked their son through the process of becoming a naturalized citizen. Joe would, technically, be considered an illegal immigrant.
Joe showed some promise as a student early on. When he was ten years old, he was in the fourth grade at Holden Elementary School, where he displayed a particular affinity for math and science. Joe was able to showcase his intelligence at a science fair, where he worked on a crystal radio. This project was awarded top honors at Holden. Joe then advanced to the Houston Independent School District’s (HISD) district-wide competition, where he took third place. Joe’s success was even covered in his school’s newspaper with a front-page article.
Joe’s aptitude in science and success at science fair competitions allowed him to participate in several activities that most other students did not. He got to visit NASA, the San Jacinto Monument and Battleship, and the Museum of Natural Science. Usually, he was the only student on the trip, accompanied by teacher Ben Hadad, or with other fellow science fair participants from other schools.
Joe did well enough in school that he was awarded honor student accolades and maintained a 93.3 average. He was the top-ranked student in his elementary school’s class.
Joe also enjoyed playing sports while in school. His favorites were football and baseball.
Joe’s mother noticed something changed with her oldest son, however, when he made the transition from fifth to sixth grade. She believed part of it was because she stopped being a stay-at-home mom and took a full-time job as a supervisor for a cleaning service.
During the fall of 1990, Joe, who attended Hoffman Middle School, got suspended. He was sent to the Aldine contemporary school system, known as Drew Alternative Middle School, for misconduct and repeated misbehavior.
If he would have shown improvement while at Drew, Joe could have eventually returned to Hoffman. Joe, however, was unable to function
at his new school; as a result, he was expelled from the Aldine School District.
According to Hoffman Middle School principal James Royster, Joe “wanted to follow his own rules and did not want to conform to the rules of the district or the school. He wanted to play by Joe Medellin’s rules.”
Joe was eventually allowed back into school and was advanced into high school. He enrolled at Eisenhower High School, but did not stay out of trouble for very long. During his first year there, he was kicked out for cursing at teachers and making verbal threats.
During the afternoon of January 29, 1992, he continued to push his luck. A fellow Eisenhower student named Jesse Zahrask approached Assistant Principal Clarence Todd near the school’s commons area. The young boy was nervous because, he claimed, another student, Joe Medellin, had threatened him. Todd listened as the boy explained what happened.
On the other side of the commons area, Joe sat on a bench in the student lounge. He was supposed to be in class. The school bell had just rung and all of the students were in their classrooms.
Joe was spotted by another assistant principal, Greg Colschen. Joe had paid several visits to Colschen’s office in the past for disciplinary reasons. The two were more than familiar with one another.
Colschen walked up to Joe. “You need to get to class. You know you’re not allowed in the student lounge during class time.”
“I just want to be left alone.” Joe ignored Colschen’s request.
“C’mon, Joe. You need to get to your classroom.”
A more insolent Joe Medellin glared at Colschen. “I said, leave me alone.”
Colschen stepped away from the obviously angry young man.
At the exact same time, Clarence Todd and Jesse Zahrask walked through the opposite side of the student lounge. They were startled when they heard a male voice yell out, “I’ll kick your ass! I’ll get you now! Piece of shit!” Joe Medellin was screaming at the boy from across the lounge.
Pure Murder Page 9