“When offenders such as this use firearms to threaten individuals, including law enforcement officers sworn to protect our community, ATF takes this very seriously,” added ATF Special Agent in Charge Christopher Shaefer. “ATF remains on the front line of preventing violent crime along with our law enforcement partners and will continue to pursue those who violate the law, regardless of their celebrity status.”
“The Atlanta Police Department has made it a priority to take violent repeat offenders off our city streets and see that they are held responsible for their actions. We are thankful for the cooperation with our partner agencies, especially the US Attorney’s office, in bringing Mr. Davis to justice. We cannot tolerate convicted felons ignoring the law by carrying firearms and endangering our citizens,” said Atlanta Police Chief George Turner.
This was bad. Very bad. I had two weapons charges. One from when I got arrested by the Kroger on Moreland and one from the incident the day before at my lawyer’s office. Each of those charges carried up to ten years in prison. Then I still had my open assault case in Fulton County to deal with. Between the feds and the state of Georgia I was facing thirty-five years.
Fuck.
I started doing the math. Thirty-five years meant my life would essentially be over. But what if they didn’t give me thirty-five. What if they settled for ten? Then my career would be over. And my story would be another one of wasted talent. It was time to make an example out of Gucci Mane, and I’d never been so afraid.
?
On the Friday after Thanksgiving I was transferred to the Robert A. Deyton Detention Facility in Lovejoy, Georgia. This was a holdover prison, a privately owned facility that made its money housing people awaiting the outcome of their federal cases. Most of the guys in there were Puerto Rican and a lot of them had never even been to the States before being flown out here after catching their cases. The place had a lot of Puerto Ricans and blacks fighting, but none of that ever involved me. I fucked with the Puerto Ricans and they fucked with me.
County jail was no picnic, but after a few bids I did have some familiarity with the place. In the feds I felt much more removed from the people and the world I knew. But there was one face I recognized at the Robert A. Deyton Detention Facility: Doo Dirty, my old partner from Savannah.
Doo Dirty had been here a few years now, trying to fight a twenty-year sentence he’d received after pleading guilty on drug conspiracy charges. The DEA had learned of his activities on a wiretap and after getting a few niggas to roll on him, his name was at the top of a forty-five-person indictment, accused of being behind the distribution of two hundred bricks of blow throughout the Savannah area.
I hadn’t seen Doo Dirty in years and when he found out I’d ended up in Lovejoy he tried to get himself moved into my unit. He ended up in the one adjacent to mine. He and I caught up one day, talking through the door that separated our pods. We talked old times and had a few laughs.
It was good to see him, but after that first reunion we wouldn’t speak again. Soon after I was seen talking to him I was told by someone that Doo Dirty was a rat. He’d snitched on the Mexicans he dealt with after he got pinched. I had no bad feelings toward him but his decisions made it impossible for us to reconcile our friendship. There was no way I was wearing the jacket he had on and I couldn’t let inmates think I condoned what he did, because truth is I didn’t.
Whether it’s the feds, state prison, county jail, or the drunk tank, the quickest way to endanger yourself behind bars is to get people thinking you’re a rat or are even friends with one. When you let that happen you’ve taken a very serious risk. And where I was going, the consequences of those risks were unlike anything I’d ever known.
XXII
* * *
MAVERICK
I would always get a little stir-crazy when I was locked up, but this time was especially challenging. I was in a facility an hour outside of Atlanta where I hardly knew anyone and I didn’t know how long I was going to be there. I was keeping busy with the exercise but I needed something else. I needed to find a way to be involved with the world beyond this prison. I needed my name to still be in the mix.
For all of my problems, a lack of music was not one of them. The Brick Factory was now closed. I’d had everything moved out of the studio and into a storage unit across the street. But I had hard drives full of the unreleased songs I’d made there as well as a mountain of older shit from Patchwerk and other studios. So I kept releasing tapes from behind bars, delegating the task of rifling through the archives to Sean. He and I worked together to put out new projects from what we had in the vaults. Sean worked hard—I think he put out nearly twenty-five mixtapes while I was locked up.
The releases accomplished the goal of keeping my name active. And they were bringing in some money. But none of those songs would blow up in my absence like they had in years past. Still, somehow the legend of Gucci seemed to be growing stronger by the day.
This was because one by one, all the young guns I’d taken under my wing at the Brick Factory were blowing up. My fingerprints were all over their music and they were making their reverence for me known.
Migos, whom I’d handed off to Pee and Coach, had gotten themselves a deal with Todd and Lyor at 300. Metro Boomin had gone from a freshman at Morehouse to having a platinum plaque to his name. Peewee and Dolph were doing their thing. And then there was Thug. The one I signed to Brick Squad on a whim had become the hottest up-and-coming artist in the rap game.
There was now a bidding war for Thug’s contract. He wanted to go work with Birdman and Lil Wayne. The media blew that situation up to be bigger than it was because I never had a problem with it. Me being pissed at Thug or Bird would be like Michael Vick blaming the Falcons for drafting Matt Ryan when he got locked up. At the end of the day everyone’s got to do what’s best for themselves. When all was said and done Thug signed a deal at 300 too, which I was pleased about because I knew he would be in good hands with Todd. And I was compensated for my role in his career with an amount I felt was fair. Nothing else to it.
Listen, I shined the light on Thug and he and I got to make a ton of great music together, but his talent and work ethic got him to where he’s at. Whether it was with 1017 or Cash Money or 300, I always wanted to see him go as far as he could go. I never wanted to hinder him. And if for some reason shit didn’t work out for him, I couldn’t let myself be the cause of that. The idea that Thug could have blown up but Gucci had him locked up in a contract, that didn’t sit right with me. I felt like I’d been in that situation myself.