City Blood

by Clark Howard

  On the notebook page Kiley had opened was the sketchy information on the 1993 Lincoln Mark VIII owned by Prestige Automobile Leasing Company in suburban Lake Forest. All Kiley had on the car so far was the scrap of information he had managed to get from a secretary over the phone: that it was driven by one of the company’s officers. Then someone named Matthew Field had come on the line and refused to divulge anything further. Kiley had initially suspected that Prestige had been either a front for some illegal mob activity, or was one of the many mob-owned legitimate businesses in the extended Chicago area. Originally he had expected to find that the driver of the Mark VIII was a ranking member of one of the three ethnic mob families who had control of the city’s organized crime. Now his expectation was much higher. Because Fraz Lamont had characterized the man as an arbitrator, Kiley believed he was onto someone of much more authority in the organized crime hierarchy—possibly a person of the stature of the late Fred Scarp, who may have ascended, without fanfare or notice, to Scarp’s previous lofty seat of command. Perhaps there were not, as commonly believed, three men of equal strength and dominion running everything now. Perhaps Phil Touhy, Augie Dellafranco, and Larry Morowski all took orders from someone else, someone who had the boss-of-bosses authority of a Lucky Luciano, an Al Capone, a Fred Scarp. Maybe there was a mob high administrator who was far smarter than those predecessors had been—because he held the power anonymously.

  Pathing the terminal to Cook County business licenses, Kiley keyed in Prestige Automobile Leasing, and within a minute had information in the document window. Prestige was an incorporated business licensed in September 1988, with an investment base of one million dollars, all stock owned by its officers, who were: Matthew A. Field, president; Nancy Marie Field, vice-president; David M. Field, treasurer; and Natalie R. Field, secretary. The firm had a triple-A credit rating, in 1989 had received the city of Lake Forest’s Honored New Business award, and in 1991 was given the Cook County Chamber of Commerce’s Golden Medallion award as one of twelve model new businesses in the county.

  Kiley accessed the cross-files of city, county, and state criminal records and keyed in all four names. There were no criminal records for any of them. He went into vital statistics with all four names for birth records. There were two found: Matthew Adam Field, born March 8, 1960, and David Martin Field, born May 6, 1962. Both were born at Garfield Park Community Hospital on the West Side, both the children of Craig T. and Naomi G. Field. There was no birth record for either Nancy or Natalie Field, indicating that they were either born outside the state or were the wives, not sisters, of the Field brothers.

  Kiley ran the parents, Craig and Naomi, through criminal records, with negative results. Accessing business records by owner names, Kiley keyed in the Field brothers for identification with other businesses besides Prestige Auto Leasing. Five other suburban companies immediately came onto the screen: Prestige Video Sales and Rentals in Morton Grove, Prestige Camera Company in Park Ridge, Prestige Apartments in Old Orchard, Prestige Gifts in Oakton, and Prestige Travel in Evanston.

  Returning to county business records, Kiley keyed in each business in turn. He found the same four names, in various orders, on the corporation documents filed for each business. David Field was president of Prestige Video; Nancy president of Prestige Camera; Natalie president of Prestige Gifts; Matthew president of Prestige Travel, David of Prestige Apartments. In each case, the other three served in corporate posts below the position of president.

  Kiley went into the Cook County Bureau of Business Credit data base, entering each of the five new business names. Each business had a double-A or triple-A credit rating, with no liens against any of them. Each business was distinctly profitable.

  Returning to criminal files, Kiley keyed in the name of each business to see if it was a known front for any illegal activity. He found nothing. Next he keyed in the names to the Better Business Bureau cross-files for city, county, and state records. There had been no complaints against any of them.

  Sitting back in his chair in front of the monitor, Kiley sighed quietly. Everything looked impeccable; it was almost as frustrating as encountering restricted accesses. On the surface it looked like four people who were living an American dream: opening and succeeding in their own diversified small businesses. There was no apparent criminal activity being fronted, no known illegal operation in the businesses themselves, no past criminal record relating to any of the principals—nothing.

  Yet—Kiley could not convince himself that there was not a connection somewhere.

  Kiley accessed Cook County real property records and keyed in the names Matthew A. and Nancy Marie Field as joint owners. After ninety seconds of searching, a record came up. Matthew and Nancy Field owned a two-story, thirty-eight-hundred square-foot, ranch-style home with attached three-car garage and a thirty-foot swimming pool on a premium corner lot in Rolling Plains, a far northwest community across the line in DeKalb County. Estimated value of the property for county tax purposes was seven-hundred-forty thousand dollars.

  Kiley pursed his lips in thought for a moment. That was a lot of house—but not really too much for a young couple with interests in six small but profitable businesses. Copying down the Rolling Plains address, he accessed the United States Government records menu. Scrolling down the list, he stopped at: CENSUS BUREAU, U. S., 1988 (UPDATED 1990), DEKALB COUNTY, ILLINOIS. Accessing the data base, Kiley keyed in the household of Matthew A. and Nancy Marie Field. The couple was shown to have three minor children: Brian, Craig, and Allison. On the chance that the other Field brother and his family might reside in the same community, Kiley keyed in David M. and Natalie R. Field. Census records showed that they had an address in Rolling Plains also, and documented two minor children: Martin and Jeffrey.

  Returning to the Cook County real property records, Kiley found that the David Field family occupied a thirty-six-hundred square-foot house on a cul-de-sac lot with a twenty-eight-foot swimming pool, tax-valued at six-hundred-eighty thousand dollars. Again, not significantly out of line with respect to the probable income of the subjects. But there was still something that bothered Kiley about the whole picture. He wondered how two young men like the Field brothers had managed to start up not one, not two or three, but six small-to-medium-size businesses, in six separate communities, in such a relatively short period of time—and make all of them profitable. How the hell had they gotten started—particularly with a one-million-dollar investment base in Prestige Auto Leasing?

  Reversing his search again, Kiley returned to criminal records and keyed in Craig T. Field, the father of the brothers. No record. Naomi G. Field, the mother. No record. Exiting criminal records, Kiley accessed county credit bureau records for Craig T. and Naomi G. The first of four pages came up in the document window. Craig Field was a baggage handler for American Airlines at O’Hare International Airport, employed as such since 1963, and had worked his way up during those years from a probationary trainee job to the position of senior supervisor. His wife Naomi was a licensed practical nurse who had worked relief shifts at the very hospital where both her sons were born, Garfield Park Community. Their credit rating over the years was occasionally slow-pay but otherwise good; they had obtained bank mortgage loans on two houses, one of which they currently occupied in the suburb of Western Springs.

  Very ordinary, Kiley thought. No big family money to pass on to the two sons for investment purposes.

  Scrolling the residential addresses shown on the credit report, Kiley noted that prior to Craig and Naomi Field buying their first house, which had been in Bridgeview, a suburb nearer the city, they had lived in the Archer Park district of Chicago, around 47th and Cicero. Kiley accessed Chicago Board of Education records and learned that both Matthew and David had attended Pasteur Elementary school, achieving above average but not extraordinary grades. There was no record of them attending any city high school. Kiley accessed Cook County Board of Education records, and the brothers showed up there first as students
in Bridgeview Junior high school, and subsequently as graduates of Bridgeview Senior high school in 1978 and 1980 respectively. High school records reflected that each had, in his senior year, been offered an athletic scholarship to play basketball at Northwestern University, across the city in Evanston.

  Northwestern was a private university and Kiley could not access its records. Turning on a screen block to cover the data he had in the document window, he left the terminal on and went over to the telephone directory library. In the directory for Evanston he found the main information number for Northwestern. Properly returning the directory to its shelf, as Aldena’s sign ordered, he went to his desk and called the university. He was connected to a woman who handled records of former students, who said, “On the phone we will only verify dates and types of degrees. Anything else has to be in the form of a written request.”

  “That’s fine,” Kiley said, and gave her the two names.

  In a very short time she was back on the line. “Michael Adam Field, BA in business administration, June 1982. David Martin Field, BA in business administration, June 1984.”

  “Thanks,” Kiley said.

  With the information in hand, he went back to the monitor he was using, cancelled the screen block, and sat silently pondering what he had learned—which essentially was nothing. He was not certain at this point that he was even searching in the right direction. What the hell, he wondered, made him think that Prestige Auto Leasing was dirty in the first place? The fact that this Matthew Field had refused to discuss a vehicle accident with him over the telephone? Maybe that was nothing more than company policy. Except that the secretary had said that the Mark VIII was—Kiley got out his notebook to double check—“an executive car driven by one of our officers.”

  The only officers listed on the incorporation papers of Prestige Auto Leasing were the two Field brothers and their wives. It was inconceivable to Kiley that either Matthew or David Field could be the unidentified “Mr. O” that Fraz Lamont claimed was the “arbitrator” at his last meet with the mob bosses. Yet the Mark VIII was the only car there that night whose driver remained unknown.

  But, there was no connection to the case. No link.

  In a quandary, Kiley closed Cook County Board of Education records, which was still in the document window, and idly went back into the vital statistics data base. The menu came on-screen and held there for further input. Kiley’s eyes scanned his choices: BIRTHS, DEATHS, MARRIAGES, DIVORCES, NAME CHANGES, ADOPTIONS …

  On impulse, Kiley selected Deaths and entered the names of Craig and Naomi Field, thinking perhaps they had died and the two sons received a large insurance settlement. But there was no record.

  BIRTHS, DEATHS, MARRIAGES, DIVORCES, NAME CHANGES …

  He selected Divorces. No records, for any of the names.

  BIRTHS, DEATHS, MARRIAGES …

  Drumming his fingers, he selected Marriages. He keyed in Matthew A. Field. Presently, marriage license record information came on. Matthew A. Field, it showed, age 24, had been party to a marriage license issued in May 1986 to marry Nancy Marie Lovat, age 23—

  Kiley’s mind stopped. It polarized.

  Nancy Marie Lovat?

  Quickly he accessed birth records and keyed in the name Nancy Marie Lovat. Her birth record came on. She had been born at Resurrection Hospital on September 8, 1962. Her mother was Constance Lemoyne Lovat. Father was Gordon Keith Lovat.

  Kiley could only stare at the father’s name.

  Gordon Lovat. Commander of the Organized Crime Bureau. OCB.

  Mr. O.

  Twenty-Seven

  Just after midnight on Friday, Kiley pulled his car to the curb in front of Reggie’s Ribs and flashed his headlights once. The restaurant was dark except for its night-lights, but Kiley could see a shadowy figure get up from one of the tables and move to the front door. The figure came out the door, paused to double-lock it from the outside, and crossed the sidewalk to Kiley’s car. Kiley unlocked the passenger door.

  “’Evening, Joseph,” said Reggie.

  “How you doing?” Kiley asked by way of greeting.

  “I’m cool,” Reggie advised.

  Kiley handed Reggie a pair of plastic wraparound sunglasses, the lenses and wide frames of which had been painted black with plastic model paint. “Put these on,” Kiley said. “I don’t want you to know where you’re going.

  “Okay by me,” Reggie complied. With the glasses in place, he not only could not see directly ahead, he had no peripheral vision either. “Hope I don’t get carsick,” he said.

  “You start feeling sick, you tell me right away,” Kiley cautioned. “I’ll pull over. Don’t you puke in my car.”

  “I’ll try not to,” Reggie promised.

  Kiley drove several blocks and got on the Dan Ryan Expressway, heading north. Knowing Reggie was smart enough to follow the way they were going, even with the glasses on, he turned on the radio and used the scan button to find a news broadcast. “What do you think about this situation in Haiti?” he asked, to distract Reggie from thinking about directions.

  “I think they ought to give the fucking place to Fee-del Castro and let him kick some ass there and straighten the fucking government out,” Reggie replied without contemplation.

  “Oh, yeah?” Kiley was mildly surprised that Reggie had such a strong opinion. “Why do you say that?”

  “Why, hell, Joe, them poor fucking Haitians been dealt so much shit by that Papa Doc and that Baby Doc, and then all them fucking generals and such, they never had a fair shake. Castro, he’s a Commie, but at least he feeds the poor people.”

  They kept talking about Haiti. Kiley changed directions several times.

  “You sure are making some strange turns, Joseph,” his passenger finally commented.

  “Forget that, will you?” Kiley said, a little shortly. “You’re not supposed to be paying attention to directions. What do you think about this situation in Bosnia?”

  “Hopeless,” Reggie said, again without having to give the matter any preliminary thought. “Ought to take all the big-shot politicians on both sides, stand their asses up against a wall, and machine-gun the motherfuckers. You see them little kids on the news had arms and legs blown off? You’d think grown-up men would see just one kid like that, they’d call the whole fucking war off.” Reggie rested his head back against the seat. “I can’t take seeing little kids like that, Joe. Tears me up. Every time I see one of those little kids on the news, poor little pitiful things crying so hard, I go right for the checkbook and be sending another hundred, two hundred, to the children aid organizations, you know.”

  Kiley glanced curiously at him. “I thought you were gambling all your money away.”

  “No, Joe, not all of it,” Reggie replied quietly.

  Since Reggie had fallen silent and did not seem to be mentally tracking directions any longer, Kiley touched the radio’s scan button again, found a station carrying muted blues music, and let it remain there.

  “Tha’s nice,” Reggie said, bobbing his chin at the radio. “B. B. King in one of his softer moments. He did a concert at the Cook County jail when I was there waitin’ on my trial. Man is one of the greats.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Kiley, who had never heard of B. B. King. Kiley could not tell through the painted glasses whether Reggie’s eyes were open or not. But as long as Reggie remained quiet, Kiley decided to do likewise.

  Kiley was still somewhat traumatized by the link he had found connecting OCB commander Gordon Lovat with the Mark VIII parked at the Shamrock the night Nick was killed. He would not have been more surprised initially if he had learned that Chief Cassidy was driving the car, or the mayor. Lovat, the department’s top man in combatting organized crime in the city, had sat down not only with the heads of the three main ethnic mob families, but also with the undisputed leader of the most powerful street gang in Chicago. And, according to Fraz Lamont, the OCB head had been there as an “arbitrator”—which to Kiley meant a mediator, a referee:
a man who had power to reconcile differences, negotiate settlements—in this case what the Disciples’ share of vending machine profits would be.

  In retrospect, Kiley realized that it was not such a preposterous discovery at all. Who but the highest police authority charged with controlling organized crime could have contacted, reasoned with, and persuaded, the mob bosses to do business with Fraz Lamont? Who but the man in charge of OCB could have guaranteed a peaceful, productive association as a result of such an alliance? Historically, Irish, Italian, and Polish mobsters had looked at blacks in general with unbounded contempt. Frequently, their identical assessment of blacks had been the only thing they had in common. In the 1940s when the late Fred Scarp had been working so diligently to bring the then warring ethnic factions to the bargaining table, he had done so by warning them that if they did not work together to control certain areas of the city, the blacks would take over and then none of them—not the Irish, the Italians, or the Poles—would share in anything. “Keep it up, you fucking assholes,” Scarp often preached. “Keep fighting among yourselves over nickels and dimes, and the fucking spades are going to walk away with the dollars.” When that reasoning finally got through to them, and an equitable division of the city’s illegal spoils was made, Scarp had ascended to the position of boss-of-bosses, and Chicago became a better place for it. After that, mob disputes were no longer allowed to get out of hand, mob violence was no longer permitted, and strict controls were placed on the expansion of any criminal activity to the point where it would generate increased public awareness or heightened law enforcement effort toward its restraint.