My days were numbered. The cops had let me go but they’d taken the pistol to be fingerprinted and turned into evidence. And I’d already violated the terms of my house arrest simply by leaving my residence and going there.
The next twenty-four hours was a blur. I knew my time was ticking and you could say I made the most of it. I was the East Atlanta bogeyman, making my way through the hood one volatile incident after another. From the Texaco to the barbershop, the whole neighborhood was buzzing about my one-man wrecking crew. Truthfully I don’t remember much from September 12 and 13, 2013, but based on the stories I later heard, it’s not the sort of shit I should start discussing now.
Let’s leave it at this. Whatever information was made known to the public—the incident at my lawyer’s office, the fight at the mall, an altercation with Rocko at the studio—those things were just the tip of the iceberg. I was toxic. Operating in full meltdown mode. Things could only end one way. Badly. And when an Atlanta police officer found me wandering down Moreland shortly after midnight on September 14, they did.
ATLANTA POLICE DEPARTMENT
Incident: 132570142
Report Date: 09/14/2013
Officer Name: IVY
12:51 AM
On 09-14-2013, I, Ofc C. Ivy, was dispatched to Moreland Ave. and E. Confederate on a call about an unknown male by the name of Gucci Mane who was bipolar, off his medication, and possibly armed. While en route to the location I was flagged down by an unknown male (later identified as one of Gucci Mane’s friends named [REDACTED]) who called police. Mr. [REDACTED] stated that his friend Gucci Mane was walking down the street and didn’t take his medicine and that he was acting violent and that he was worried about him, and that he just wants some help for his friend. Mr. [REDACTED] pointed to the male wearing a white shirt and blue jeans and advised that he was the male that he was calling about.
I made contact with the male later identified as Mr. Radric Davis (AKA Gucci man). I informed him who I was, and who I worked for.
At this moment Mr. Davis asked what did I want? I informed him that his friends called the police because they were worried about him and want to get him some help.
While talking to Mr. Davis I could smell the strong odor of marijuana coming from his person and I also observed a bulge which appeared to be a handgun in his right front pocket. I didn’t ask any questions because I didn’t want to escalate the situation due to him already being irate.
Mr. Radric Davis was yelling that he wanted the police to drive him to his mother’s house in Douglasville and that he didn’t need anything else from us. Mr. Davis was informed that we could not go out that far but we would call him an ambulance. At this time more officers had arrived on scene to help assist me with Mr. Davis. Mr. Davis was acting irate by yelling and cursing and threatening police. Once other officers were on scene Mr. Davis got more irate and started to threaten police again and advise that he would shoot us up. Mr. Davis also stated to police that we were gay-ass officers and that we were “homos” trying to fuck him and that we must like men. At this time Mr. Davis was arrested for disorderly conduct and searched incident to the arrest.
While searching Mr. Davis, I located a clear plastic baggie containing suspected marijuana and a loaded black .40 Cal Glock handgun from Mr. Davis’s right jean pocket. My supervisor, Sgt. Mitchell (unit 1694), had arrived on scene along with Grady EMS. At this time Grady decided to sedate Mr. Davis based on his behavior and the fact that he has been off his medication. Grady EMS gave Mr. Davis a shot in the left arm to calm him down. At this time Mr. Davis was escorted over to a Grady EMS stretcher so he could be transported to the hospital. While trying to get Mr. Davis onto the stretcher it took several officers and Grady EMS personnel to restrain Mr. Davis. Mr. Davis was administered another dose of medicine by Grady EMS and transported to Grady Hospital.
When we arrived to the hospital Mr. Davis was removed from the ambulance and escorted inside the hospital, where he was checked in and escorted to his room. Mr. Davis was charged with, (Disorderly conduct 16-11-39), (Felon in poss. of firearm 16-11-131), (Carrying concealed weapon 16-11-126), (Poss. of controlled substance 16-13-30(J2), (carrying concealed weapon without license 16-11-126(A), and he also had an active warrant out of Fulton County SO, Warrant #13SC118228, date of warrant 09-13-13. There were no injuries reported from the arrestee while in police custody.
XXI
* * *
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA V. RADRIC DAVIS
I’d been brought to Grady Hospital for psychiatric evaluation after my arrest. By the time I sobered up and the sedatives wore off I was in DeKalb County Jail. The way the staff was looking at me, I knew I must have come in there like a man possessed.
I took in my surroundings. There was something different about this room. It felt emptier than the typical DeKalb County cell. Intentionally. There were no sheets on my mattress. The blanket was so stiff. Two nurses peered into my cell and walked away.
This is the mental health floor. You’re on suicide watch. These people think you’re a psychotic lunatic.
?
“Keyshia,” I mumbled through the phone a few hours later. “I’m in jail. Can you come get me?”
“You want me to come get you after everything you said to me?”
“Babe, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
The details of my arrest were still a blur, but I did remember that when I got arraigned I was told I had a cash bond of $130,000. That meant as soon as Keyshia got here and put my bond money up, I was getting out of here.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll come.”
But Keyshia didn’t come.
?
I didn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t. I knew what was coming.
My mind had been warning me withdrawal was on the way, but it was my body that let me know it had arrived. This was not a mental craving for lean. I was familiar with that feeling. This was dope sickness.
My body was starving for lean like it was food. Screaming for it. I was in terrible pain—stomach cramps, sweats, shakes, vomiting, and diarrhea—alone in my cell.
As I sat on the toilet trembling, breathing heavy, my insides emptying out of me, I hung my head. I closed my eyes and wondered if I’d ever felt pain anywhere close to this.
The extradition from Miami to Fulton County in ’05 You were shackled in chains on that bus for two days straight.
I remembered how I got through that. How Big Cat had seen a look of defeat on my face as I was escorted out of the FBI office. How he told me to keep my head up. I remembered how his words carried me through that bus ride and so many other hard times in the years that followed.
I remembered that as low as my lows had gotten, I always had faith in myself. That I always knew if I could get past those temporary moments, eventually I’d be up again. Jail couldn’t beat me. Lean couldn’t beat me. No situation could beat me. I was the only one who could beat me.