“It’s a beautiful place in the summertime,” he said. “The Black Hills, I don’t think there’s a more beautiful place in the summer.”
Davis recalls with fondness his time as a boy growing up in South Dakota. It was a simple time. There was one TV channel, and he spent a lot of time hunting and fishing. He wrestled in high school and made good money as a jockey on the horse racing circuit.
Though he grew up in a modest, small-town setting, the acquisition of money became a central pursuit. He borrowed money from his parents to ramp up his white cross business, telling himself that he would pay them back with interest and a mink coat for his mother and Cadillac for his father, even though he knew they didn’t approve of excess.
While in prison, Davis hammered out a manuscript that became the foundation for Conti, who trimmed it by hundreds of pages. The publisher wanted it even leaner at 300 pages. That makes it a fast read. Sometimes too fast. He breezes through chapters of his life that could have used more detail, more meat.
But this is an adventure, a travel memoir, albeit one viewed from the vantage point of the criminal underworld. Which makes it unique.
Today, Davis spends time playing pickleball. He reflects on the decision to transition out of the legal white cross pills for illegal drugs. It was a bad decision. He could have sold the pills in magazines as a health supplement. He would have had a comfortable life.
Instead, he spent a lot of his adult life on the run or in prison.
“It’s not fun,” he said. “You don’t want to be a felon. You don’t want to be a fugitive. You’d be better off driving a UPS truck.”