Pure Murder

by Corey Mitchell

  Sean later asked to transfer to Scarborough High School, where he hoped to make the varsity football squad. Sean had some speed, but he lacked in the size department. He only stood five-seven and weighed 150 pounds—not exactly Junior Seau numbers. The administration considered his request; however, he never transferred out of Harper.

  When Sean turned fifteen, he ran into a young boy from school in the neighborhood named Peter Cantu. The two young men got along well and started to hang out with one another. Sean liked Peter and also liked that he had lots of friends.

  According to Sean’s psychological evaluation for HISD placement, he “wants to be a leader”; however, he “seldom meets the requirement.” Ella Jones agreed with the assessment. As much as Sean wanted to be a badass and a leader, his mother believed he was nothing more than a follower.

  Sean got into trouble again on the Harper school grounds. One morning, he was hanging outside in the designated smoking area with a few friends and another student named Alicia Siros. She claimed O’Brien pulled out a small sheet of paper and some matches. He casually lit the paper on fire, held it aloft slightly, and said, “I’d like to burn the school down.” Instead, he threw the burning paper in a nearby trashcan and headed off for class.

  Alicia had another unusual encounter with Sean. She was sitting at home when she heard a vehicle tearing down her road, followed by a loud crash. She jumped out of her chair to see what all the commotion was about and headed out the front door. When she got outside, she spotted a car that had run off the road. She noticed someone darting out of the car—it was Sean O’Brien. He scrambled away from the wrecked vehicle and into a waiting car. The second car took off in a flash.

  The wrecked car’s engine was still running.

  Alicia Siros walked over to the car, peered inside the driver’s-side window, and noticed that the steering column had been broken. The car had been stolen. She went back inside her home and called the police.

  The following day, Alicia asked around school if anyone knew if Sean had stolen a car. Several of her classmates said that he had stolen the car. They added that he had stolen lots of cars—probably more than fifty.

  Alicia described Sean’s behavior as “very uncalm.” She once saw the jittery teen with a knife at school. It was a large knife he stashed in a holster around his ankle. She even spotted him carrying a gun to school one day.

  Alicia once witnessed Sean steal money and a pair of tennis shoes from a fellow student, Louis Colwell. Alicia, who was friends with Louis, saw Sean confront the boy and demand his tennis shoes. According to Alicia, Sean stepped in front of the skinny Louis and declared, “I like your shoes. I want them.”

  “You can’t have them,” Louis replied.

  “I will get them,” Sean declared.

  According to Alicia Siros, Sean “got them later on that day” in a fight between the two boys. Sean O’Brien got the better end of the deal as he walked away with the shoes, and Louis Colwell walked away barefoot, with a bloody nose and split lip.

  Sean O’Brien’s cries for attention continued.

  In 1991, he again attempted suicide—this time by swallowing an entire bottle of Triaminic, a sore throat medicine. There was no explanation given as to why he tried to kill himself.

  He tried one more time that same year by slitting his wrists. He was distraught over a girlfriend.

  Sean’s bad behavior continued throughout the year. He seemed to enjoy causing havoc on the bus. He was busted for fondling a girl’s breasts under her clothes against her will while on the bus. He got in trouble for cursing at and picking a fight with another boy on the bus. He got in trouble another time on the bus for throwing an apple out a window at some pedestrians.

  On June 25, 1991, Sean got into trouble on the bus yet again when he attempted to choke another student.

  In August 1991, Sean got into an argument with his mother about his behavior at home. The yelling escalated until he got in his mother’s face and pushed her away from him. Instead of cowering in fear, Ella Jones bounced right back and got in her son’s face. Sean instinctively attacked and punched his mother full on in the chest. The hit was so hard Ella stumbled backward and crashed through a plate-glass window. Sean looked out the window at her bloody body as she lay on the grass. He sneered at her and walked away. The cuts were so bad, Ella had to be taken away in an ambulance and examined by a doctor.

  Sean O’Brien never apologized to his mother for hitting her.

  No charges were pressed against him.

  Later that month, on August 26, 1991, Sean’s report card from Harper Alternative failed to make it into his mother’s hands. Had she seen it, she would not have been happy. Sean missed sixty-five days of school over the second half of 1990 and 125 days throughout the still-not-close-to-completed 1991 school year.

  Sean’s problems at school got worse. By December, he was sent to juvenile detention for assaulting a teacher.

  By January 1992, Sean had had enough of school. As his school records indicate, he “exhibited school refusal,” which is simply a noncommittal way of saying he dropped out.

  In April 1992, Sean tried to kill himself yet again. This time around, he swallowed an entire bottle of Sinutab tablets. He survived.

  On June 5, 1992, Ella Jones took her son to the Harris County Mental Health and Mental Retardation Authority (MHMRA) services. According to Sean’s MHMRA medical report, he allegedly ran away from home at least four times in the preceding six months. The report also stated he started abusing ethyl alcohol at the age of fourteen. In the report, Sean claimed he had informed his mother of his alcohol addiction.

  Furthermore, according to the MHMRA report, Sean’s mother claimed her son had been stealing from the family, and that he constantly lied to everyone about practically anything and everything.

  Sean admitted in the report he had severe issues with his mother. He said he did not understand why his mother “rejected” him and wondered how she could then later go on to have two more children and raise and love them with no problem whatsoever.

  In the report, Sean insisted his grandmother was his real “mother” and Ella Jones, his biological mother, was merely a “peer.” Sean also claimed he resented it when his mother tried to “parent him.” He thought she was out of line because she had basically abandoned him for seven years.

  Ella Jones also stated in the report that Sean was “provocative” and “indifferent” toward his little brother and sister. She claimed her children expressed such fear to her and they worried about the “rage” Sean exhibited when he got mad. Apparently, one of the worst instances was when he threatened both children by telling them he “had access to a gun” and he “would kill them.”

  Ella Jones called her son “unpredictable,” said she was “afraid of him,” and talked about how she always “walked on eggshells” around him.

  Later that month, Sean O’Brien was arrested for riding in a stolen car with one of his friends.

  Wednesday, June 23, 1993—1:00 P.M.

  Oak Forest Park

  Judiway Street

  Houston, Texas

  News reporter Randy Wallace of Fox News, channel 26, spoke with a handful of young Hispanics and blacks about a double shooting that had occurred just a few days earlier. He intended to use the footage for an upcoming special on gang violence in Houston called City Under Siege.

  Amongst the people Wallace spoke with was one young man by the name of Sean O’Brien. Bedecked in baggy pants with his white boxers spilling over the waistband, sans shirt, and donning a backward baseball cap, Sean O’Brien cut a menacing figure.

  Though he was not considered a suspect in the shootings, he felt free to comment about the level of gang activity in the Houston area. Swilling from a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor, he spoke to the reporter.

  Wallace asked the young boy his thoughts on the shooting.

  His response was concise and deliberate: “Life means nothing.”

  Chapter 13


  Thursday, June 24, 1993—10:00 P.M.

  Clearbrook Apartments

  West Thirty-fourth Street

  Houston, Texas

  In the parking lot stood Sean O’Brien, Peter Cantu, Joe Medellin, Yuni Medellin, Raul Villarreal, Efrain Perez, Ramon Sandoval, and Frank Sandoval. Eight young men, four with very serious problems, sharing a few 40s, and ready to engage in a bit of “the ultraviolence.” They headed over to a small playground set up in the grass between the apartment parking lot and a long metal fence topped with razor wire that abutted White Oak Bayou. As the young men sat around in the small swings, they continued to throw back their beers. The outline of the railroad trestle could be seen under the moonlight.

  Chapter 14

  Thursday, June 24, 1993—10:00 P.M.

  Silver Creek Apartments

  Mangum Road

  Houston, Texas

  Jennifer and Elizabeth were having a blast hanging out with Gina. They were soon joined by Gina’s former boyfriend, Chris, and two of his buddies, Michael and Jose. The six of them were hanging outside of Gina’s apartment when Chris suggested they head over to his place at the Spring Hill apartment complex, just off West Thirty-fourth Street. He mentioned hanging out by the pool.

  Another friend of the girls, Roseanne Mendoza, showed up and joined them on their way over to the Spring Hill Apartments.

  Chapter 15

  Thursday, June 24, 1993—10:05 P.M.

  T. C. Jester Park

  T. C. Jester Boulevard and West Thirty-fourth Street

  Houston, Texas

  “All right, man, so what’s up?” Sean O’Brien wanted to know.

  “We’re gonna have a little fun with the newbie over there,” Peter Cantu said as he gestured over to Raul Villarreal. “He thinks we’re a gang and he wants to be a part of it. So we’re gonna let him think it and have our way with him.”

  “Whatchoo wanna do with him?” O’Brien asked.

  “Kick his ass! He’s been talking shit all day about he can take any of us. It’s time to put him to the test.” Cantu smiled. “He’s gotta fight each and every one of us, so he can join ‘the gang.’” He started to laugh.

  O’Brien started to laugh as well. “Yeah, yeah. All right. That’s cool with me.”

  The other guys were all smiles, too.

  They joked around a bit longer until O’Brien stood up and said, “C’mon, let’s do this.” He instigated the march through the playground and up to his secret passageway through the fence. Actually, someone had simply pulled the wire portion of it back so one could easily slip through it. All eight of them traversed into the darkness of the railroad tracks.

  “Look at all the stars,” Yuni said as he emerged on the other side.

  On the opposite side of the fence were a cluster of trees, a small creek, and the bottom of a gravel embankment. The boys made their way up the embankment, which led to train tracks. They headed east on the tracks for a few hundred feet until they came upon the trestle, or bridge, that crossed over White Oak Bayou and led directly into T. C. Jester Park.

  To the north of the train tracks and just east of the woods was a large, flattened area of grass. Frank Sandoval, Yuni Medellin, Efrain Perez, and Raul Villarreal headed for the patch of grass. The other four guys headed down toward the bayou. Everyone except Frank continued to drink their beers as they excitedly hopped down the other side of the train track embankment. Once they reached the flattened grassy circle, they stood around, drank more beer, and talked a bunch of smack.

  Cantu, O’Brien, and Joe Medellin slipped off to the side for a bit as they spoke in confidence about Raul. O’Brien would later claim he had no interest in fighting. He made up an excuse about not wanting to damage his glasses. He added it was too dark and that there were too many ant beds on the ground and he did not want to get bitten.

  According to O’Brien, Cantu insisted, “You’re gonna fight him, Sean.”

  “No, I’m not,” O’Brien shot him down.

  “All right, you go down there later, and if it’s too dark, just shake your head no, okay?” Cantu stated.

  “Okay, man, I’ll do that,” O’Brien agreed.

  After almost thirty minutes of everyone chilling, Cantu and Joe decided Raul Villarreal’s time had come. They motioned over to Ramon Sandoval, one of the twins, and whispered something to him. Ramon nodded his head and walked toward where Raul stood. O’Brien also sauntered over. O’Brien surveyed the area, looked up at Cantu, and shook his head no.

  Cantu shook his head in disgust at O’Brien and turned his attention to Ramon Sandoval. “All right, Ramon, you take him.”

  Ramon looked up at the much larger Raul, as if sizing him up, then reared back and took a swing at the newcomer.

  The fight was on.

  The rest of the young men created a human ring that surrounded the two fighters. Ramon was to be the first of many opponents Raul was going to have to take on. The plan was for each boy to fight Raul for five minutes, one after the other. Raul’s objective was to take them all on and still be able to stand to tell the tale. It was going to be a tough chore, as the others had every intention of knocking him out cold.

  Ramon and a now-shirtless Raul went after it, hard and heavy. This was no Muhammad Ali rope-a-dope dance and shuffle routine. The two boys were standing toe-to-toe taking full-on punches to the face. They grabbed each other, placed one another in headlocks, and punched each other in the face. They grappled and wrestled each other to the ground. Ramon was cheered on by the other guys; they were yelling at Raul and cursing his name.

  Ramon was supposed to test Raul to see if he could actually fight. It was obvious he could. The two fought for the entire five minutes, and Raul was still standing. According to Cantu, Raul actually seemed to get the better of Ramon Sandoval. There were no knockouts in round one.

  Next up was Joe Medellin. The much smaller boy did not miss a beat as he immediately leapt in and took over from where Ramon had ended. Again, Raul held his ground as he scrapped with the powerful Medellin. As with Ramon, Raul and Medellin stood face-to-face and pummeled each other. Joe Medellin was unable to knock out the bigger Raul Villarreal. He did, however, continue to wear the new guy down for five minutes. Once again, Raul was able to stay up.

  The whoops and hollers continued. The group had no intention of letting up on their new charge.

  Cantu looked over at Frank Sandoval. “Get in there, bitch,” he ordered the other twin.

  “Nah, man,” Frank declined.

  “What do you mean, no?” Cantu sounded incredulous.

  “That’s not how I am,” stated the pacifist twin. “I don’t judge others like that. Not with all this violence and stuff.”

  Cantu started to laugh and shook his head. “Whatever, dude.”

  Despite his earlier hesitancy, O’Brien decided to step into the fray. Of all the boys in the group, he was easily the strongest, although not the biggest. He did, however, lift weights and was in excellent shape. He was shorter and lighter than Raul Villarreal, but he was a much better fighter.

  By the time O’Brien stepped up, Raul was moving at least one or two steps slower than when he began. O’Brien took advantage of this weakness and went straight into Raul’s face, barely giving him any time to react. He landed several hard thuds into the new guy’s mug.

  The force of the punches began to take their toll, but Raul was not ready to throw in the towel. He recovered somehow and threw a few devastating punches in O’Brien’s face, stunning his much fresher opponent.

  Unfortunately for Raul Villarreal, his counterattack had the opposite intended effect. When Raul punched Sean in the face, O’Brien responded that he “liked that.” Raul’s punches merely served to enrage O’Brien, who then countered with his own blow to Raul’s abdomen, doubling over his opponent. O’Brien then polished him off with an uppercut to the fighter’s jaw, which sent the much larger boy sprawling backward onto the dirt. The rest of the guys screamed their approval for O’Brien’s s
kills and laughed as they saw Raul tumble to the ground.

  “Get up!” O’Brien barked. “Get up, ya pussy!”

  Cantu stepped into the ring to observe the aftermath. It was apparent Raul was no longer feeling combative. He lay facedown in the grass, moaning.

  “That’s it!” Cantu declared. “He’s done.”

  Raul Villarreal’s objective was to take on all of the guys; however, he did not even last through the first three opponents. No one knew for sure what they planned to do to him.

  Everyone except Raul headed back up to the railroad track trestle to sit down. They opened up more beers and talked about what had just gone down. Raul looked on from a matted-down grassy circle. He was slow in his recovery.

  “Hey, motherfucker!” Cantu yelled from atop his perch. “Get your fat ass over here, now!” Efrain Perez and Joe Medellin started to laugh.

  Raul slowly lifted himself up off the ground, flicked his hands across his jeans to clear off any excess dirt, held his head up high, and slowly trudged up the railroad embankment to where the other seven guys were hanging out.

  By the time he got to the bridge, Cantu told him to stop. “You know, you were talking a lot of shit today about how you could kick everyone’s ass.” Cantu smirked. “Well, you were supposed to take all of us on and not get your ass kicked to prove yourself.” Some of the other guys muttered under their breath. “But you failed, ése.”

  Cantu paused briefly and looked at his friends. “So what are we gonna do with this sorry piece of shit?” he asked rhetorically. Raul stiffened up as he expected he would need to defend himself. Peter Cantu turned backward toward Raul Villarreal and asked again, “What are we gonna do with him?”