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How a Chicago EMT With Three Identities Slipped Through the State`s Gun Regulations
Oct. 13--Michael Arquero's past was finally catching up with him as he sat in his car, tending to his four gunshot wounds after firing back at a drive-by shooter at a Humboldt Park taco stand last month.
His concealed carry permit and his EMT license bore his current name. That's how his co-workers, friends and wife said they knew him.
But as police quickly found out when they fingerprinted him, Arquero had two other lives: One as Larry Myers, a boy who grew up in New Jersey and left home at 16; the other as Michael Trivasano, an alias he used when he fell in with gangs in Chicago and landed in prison.
He adopted his latest name when he got out. That's the name he used when he got his EMT license, when he got married and when he got his job with an ambulance company as he overcame obstacles facing most ex-cons, according to his friends and family.
But authorities say Arquero used his new identity to skirt laws meant to track convicted felons and keep them from certain jobs and prevent them from getting guns. In doing so, he exposed a loophole in the state's gun regulations that Chicago and state police say must be fixed.
Convicted felons are not allowed to have a gun in Illinois, yet fingerprints are not required to get either a firearm owners identification card or a concealed carry permit -- even though law enforcement officials acknowledge it's the best way to check someone's criminal background no matter what name is used.
Like Arquero, more than half the people who have concealed carry permits in the state did not submit fingerprints when applying for one. Fingerprints are optional, required only if someone wants to get a permit sooner.
Arquero was able to get both a FOID card and a concealed carry permit simply by submitting applications with his new name that bore no criminal record. "It shouldn't be this easy," said Cara Smith, chief policy officer for Cook County Sheriff Tom Dart.
Arquero was first arrested in Chicago in 2001, less than a year after he left New Jersey. He told police he was Michael Trivasano but provided no identification, according to police and court records. That's how he was booked and fingerprinted, creating a permanent record linking his prints to the name Trivasano.
After his second arrest a few months later, he gave police a Social Security number that belonged to a woman in Florida, according to records. There is nothing in the police file about any attempt to verify the Social Security number. Again, he was booked as Trivasano.
During his third arrest, he was shot by a Chicago police officer after allegedly pulling a gun in 2002. He was convicted and spent five years in prison as Trivasano, the phony name he gave police.
When he was released in 2008, he returned to New Jersey, dropped his alias and legally changed his name to Michael Xavier Arquero: Michael after his stepfather, Xavier because he liked the unusual name, Arquero after his mother.
He earned his GED, got an EMT license and returned to Chicago after eloping with a woman he met here, according to records and his family. Settling into a home on a quiet street in the Avondale neighborhood, he had a new job with a private ambulance company and a new name that bore no criminal record.
Last year, he decided to get a FOID card and a concealed carry permit. He filled out applications for both under his new name and did not submit fingerprints. He got both.
Arquero was carrying a Glock 9 mm on Sept. 9, 2016, as he ran a late-night errand for his pregnant wife, who was craving tacos, according to his family. Arquero was standing near outdoor seating at a restaurant in Humboldt Park when a Honda Civic circled and someone inside the car opened fire, police said.
Arquero was hit and pulled out his gun and fired back, killing the 18-year-old driver, according to police and court records. Two gang officers arrived on the scene and fired at Arquero as he fired into the car, hitting him. Police said he ignored orders to drop his gun.
He was shot four times, at least once and maybe twice by the officers, according to police. His attorney Nenye Uche said a bullet that struck him in the ankle came from the direction of the Civic, keeping him in a wheelchair during his subsequent court appearances.
When his fingerprints were checked, police discovered Arquero had a criminal record as Trivasano, and he was charged with unlawful use of weapon by a felon. Police pressed for murder charges too, but prosecutors said the shooting appeared to be self-defense. Still, the weapons charge could send him to prison for years and result in revocation of his EMT license.
Both Chicago and Illinois state police are investigating how Arquero was able to buy and carry a gun. Neither would release the forms Arquero submitted, so it's not known how he answered questions about his criminal background.
"There appears to be some kind of loophole if things like this can get through," said Anthony Guglielmi, chief spokesman for the Chicago Police Department. He said the department was advocating for changes in state law, but he provided no details.
The sheriff's office said the solution is clear, though not easy: Require fingerprints for anyone wanting to buy or carry a gun in Illinois.
"Had fingerprints been required here, this person's criminal history would have been flagged regardless of what name he was using," Smith said.
The Tribune reached out to relatives and friends and reviewed police and court records to piece together Arquero's three lives and how his case has tested both the criminal justice system in Illinois and the way it regulates guns.
Striking out on his own
Arquero grew up as Larry Myers in East Windsor, N.J. His parents separated when he was 2, and he lived with his mother, a correctional officer. He was "an average kid" who was full of energy and loved soccer, according to his mother, Adina Arquero Lev.
Lev lived near an elementary school. A classmate who lived on the other side of the school grounds had a name similar to the alias Arquero would use in Chicago.
At 16, Arquero dropped out of school, telling his mother "he wanted to see America." He used his savings to buy a bus ticket to Sacramento, Calif.
"I was freaking out," Lev said. But she let him go, saying that even as a small child he was "very responsible for his actions."
Arquero made it to California and on the way back stopped in Chicago, where according to police he ran with a gang on the West Side. A year after her son left home, Lev said she got a troubling call from him.
"Mom, I got mixed up in something and I need you to not worry," Lev said, quoting her son. "I got into this mess and I gotta get out of it."
Four months later, she got another call from him, collect from Cook County Jail. Again Lev offered to send money to get him out but he refused. "My mind was blown," she said. "He didn't call us for bail. You're 17 and he doesn't want you to help or rescue him."
He never revealed details of his arrest. Lev said she finally checked the jail website, looked up his date of birth and found her son's mug under the assumed name. "It was quite surprising."
Arquero was two weeks short of his 18th birthday when he was arrested the first time in Chicago, on Aug. 31, 2001. Police said they saw Arquero toss a loaded Colt revolver behind a trash container in the West Town neighborhood, not far from Smith Park. He was charged with aggravated unlawful use of a weapon, a felony.
He told police his name was Michael Trivasano and that his nickname was "Rocky," according to court records, but he did not provide a Social Security number or driver's license. He was fingerprinted under the name of Trivasano.
He was arrested again 3 1/2 months later after officers responded to a fight and saw Trivasano pull a loaded .38-caliber semi-automatic handgun from his waistband and throw it into a backyard about six blocks from his first arrest, according to court records.
He told police he was a laborer for a construction company and went by the nickname "Scooby." The police report notes a Social Security number which, according to records, belongs to a woman in Florida. Reached by the Tribune, she said she does not know a Michael Arquero or a Michael Trivasano. She said police never contacted her after the arrest.
Arquero was charged as Trivasano with felony aggravated unlawful use of a weapon and having no FOID card.
Eight months later, on Aug. 20, 2002, police say he was running across a street when he turned, pointed a gun at an officer and pulled the trigger at least two times. The gun didn't go off. The officer fired at him, hitting him twice in the leg, according to a police source.
Arquero was charged with attempted murder and aggravated assault of a police officer. He was again booked as Trivasano and was convicted in a bench trial, according to court records. After five years in prison, he was released in February 2008 and placed on parole for three more years.
Six months after his release, he met Melissa Betancourt. After a few dates, they lost touch and he went back to New Jersey in October 2008. The Illinois Department of Corrections had given him permission to serve his parole there.
He got his GED from Mercer County Community College and began training to become an EMT. In March 2009, he legally changed his name from Larry Myers to Michael Arquero, according to court records in New Jersey.
But he remained Michael Trivasano to parole officials in New Jersey and in Illinois. There is no record he ever notified them of his name change, and there is no Michael Arquero in their files.
During this time, Betancourt said Arquero reached out to her and apologized for losing touch, explaining he'd gone back east to mend his relationship with his mother and to attend EMT classes, she said.
"I was very proud of him because he had expressed to me that he wanted to help people in need and be a first responder," Betancourt said.
She visited for Valentine's Day in 2009, and he had flowers and gifts for her when they met in baggage claim. The next time she visited, that May, he proposed to her in front of everyone at the airport, she said. She said yes and they planned a wedding for the following month.
He moved back to Illinois as Michael Arquero, transferred his EMT license to Illinois -- also under his new name -- and got a job with ATI Ambulance, which transports patients to hospitals as well as nursing homes and dialysis centers.
While he was living his life here as Michael Arquero, he continued to be Michael Trivasano to Illinois parole officials, according to records from the Illinois Prisoner Review Board. When he was finally discharged from parole in 2011, it was under the name of Trivasano.
Betancourt said the couple spent the ensuing years raising their two young boys and that Arquero was an ideal husband. He stayed home with the kids while she furthered her education, and friends joked how he loved his "Mr. Mom role."
Arquero's mother said her son "was doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing when you get out of jail. He became an outstanding citizen paying taxes, paying bills, taking care of his kids and wife. He was doing everything right."
'A good guy with a gun'
Sometime last year, Arquero decided to get a FOID card and a concealed carry permit because he wanted to protect himself and his family, according to a close friend.
"We carry for this purpose, to protect ourselves and our families," said Brandon Venditti-Isley, a fellow EMT and one of Arquero's best friends. "I would consider him a good guy with a gun. There's the bad guys with the guns, and he's a good guy with a gun."
Venditti-Isley believes Arquero was being a protector when he fired back at the Honda Civic last month. "As much as you prepare for it ... no one ever wants this to happen. It's the worst-case scenario."
Police initially tried to charge Arquero with first-degree murder after the driver of the Honda, Louis Rodriguez, 18, died. Prosecutors called the shooting self-defense and refused. But they did approve charges of unlawful use of a weapon by a felon.
Police spokesman Anthony Guglielmi said no weapon was recovered from the scene that night but had no other details.
Betancourt said Arquero's arrest was the first time she learned her husband had a criminal background. She told the Tribune, "That is not the person I know."
Or the person the state police knew when it issued him both the FOID and concealed carry permit.
"This guy is an example of someone who was able to circumvent the system," said Illinois State Police Master Sgt. Jason Bradley. "We don't have all the answers yet, nor are we ready to disclose everything."
One of the questions is whether Arquero lied about his criminal background on his applications. Bradley would not release copies of them or say what was on them. If he didn't volunteer his criminal record, a regular background check would have come back clean for a Michael Arquero.
The application for a FOID warns that it's a crime to enter "false information." The second question specifically asks about convictions for felonies.
The concealed carry permit forms require the applicant to answer a series of criminal history questions and to list the past 10 years of addresses. One of Arquero's addresses would be an Illinois prison.
Fingerprints, which would have caught Arquero, are not required for a FOID card and are optional for a concealed carry permit if you want to speed up approval. In their background checks, state police search by an applicant's name and date of birth.
State police said additional information "could be helpful" when asked why fingerprints are not required.
Rep. Brandon Phelps, R-Harrisburg, author of the concealed carry law, said there was some discussion of requiring fingerprints, but it was left out of the bill when it was passed in 2013.
"Criminals already got the guns," he said. "They're not waiting for a FOID card or a concealed carry."
Since the concealed carry law was passed in 2013, more than 225,000 people have applied for permits. Nearly 22,000 were rejected, according to the state police. Another 39 permits have been revoked and three suspended.
More than half the applications, 123,152, were submitted without fingerprints.
Smith, with the sheriff's office, said the concealed carry law recognizes the importance of fingerprints even though it stops short of requiring them.
"If you look at the concealed carry statute, the legislature recognized the importance of fingerprints as being the way to confirm a person's identity," Smith said. "It says if you don't use fingerprints, you have the extra 90 days to process it.
"It's awkward language at best. The language is just bizarre to me. Why wouldn't you do this if you knew you could do it? I see lip service to public safety, and at the end of the day, the law lacks enforcement."
'He wasn't living a double life'
No fingerprint check is required for an EMT license either, even though a criminal background can be grounds for rejection.
There are more than 100 jobs that convicted felons cannot hold under Illinois law, according to the Illinois Criminal Justice Information Authority. They include acupuncturist, athletic trainer, auctioneer, tattoo artist, deaf interpreter, geologist, lottery ticket agent, child care facility employee, solid waste site operator, raffle or bingo conductor, roofer, interior designer, marriage therapist, buyer or broker of slaughtered livestock.
A felony conviction does not automatically bar someone from holding an EMT license in Illinois, though the nature of Arquero's arrests as Trivasano likely would have disqualified him, according to Melaney Arnold, spokeswoman for the Illinois Department of Public Health.
Since he transferred his license from New Jersey, the only question the state could've asked him in 2009 was whether he had any unpaid child support. When he had to renew his license, he should've been asked if he had ever been convicted of a felony, and if he answered yes, his circumstances would have been reviewed.
Before he went to work at ATI Ambulance, a hiring manager saw what she believed were gang tattoos and made it clear his gang life had to be a thing of the past, according to a supervisor. Arquero said he was now a father who'd gotten out of that life, and he changed a tattoo on his neck so it would not be seen as affiliated with a gang.
He didn't disclose anything about his criminal record or his past life as Trivasano to ATI, the supervisor said.
Arquero worked with fellow EMT Jaleesa Venditti, sometimes 12 or 18 hours at a stretch. Venditti said she knew Arquero as a dedicated, hard-working EMT. She strongly objected to a police news release that suggested Arquero was living a double life to continue his criminal ways.
"He wasn't living a double life, he had changed his life," Venditti told the Tribune. "There's a big difference. Being so close to this person they're just ripping apart, it's hard not to be offended."
Venditti said she finds it hard to believe Arquero would have ignored orders to drop his gun at the taco stand. Venditti said Arquero has friends who are police officers.
"He had to have had laser focus," she said. "Mike respected the police too much to disobey an order. ... I could totally see tunnel vision going on."
'Chasing ghosts'
On a recent morning, Michael Arquero was wheeled into Cook County Circuit Court's Branch 50 courtroom on the Northwest Side, a large gauze patch covering the bullet hole on his neck. Judge Ann O'Donnell announced that a grand jury was determining whether there was probable cause for his arrest.
As he was wheeled out, a bearded Arquero waved to Melissa Betancourt, six months' pregnant with their third child.
"Piece of s---!" yelled someone sitting with friends and relatives of Louis Rodriguez, the 18-year-old killed outside the taco place. "Murderer!"
The bailiff cleared the courtroom, holding the man behind before escorting him off the premises with a warning. Betancourt was offered a police escort to her car.
Three days later, a grand jury indicted Arquero for unlawful use of a weapon by a felon. It was under the umbrella statute of armed habitual offender, a Class X felony. He was to remain jailed on $2 million bail.
Uche, Arquero's lawyer, said it's important to remember Arquero isn't charged with killing Rodriguez and he isn't charged with any violence toward a police officer. He does not believe the habitual offender statute was written for someone like Arquero, who he said has been out of the gang life since his teenage years.
"Going into his past record, that's just chasing ghosts," Uche said.
Uche argued that it was the job of the state to dig through the layers of Arquero's life: His childhood as Myers, his Chicago alias as Trivasano, his transformation from "dumb teenager" to Michael Arquero the family man.
"Even if he used 10 different names, if they were doing their job on their end, all they had to do is run it in their computer system and see that he's lying," Uche said.
"Now the state, I know, disagrees with how he got those documents," he continued. "But the bottom line is he got them from the state of Illinois. They're not fraudulent pieces of paper, they are legitimate. The state made a mistake. He shouldn't pay for it."
Tribune reporters Megan Crepeau, David Jackson and Gary Marx contributed.
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