Posted By: Scorsese
Louisville's Robin Hood drug dealer dies - 09/09/14 03:15 PM
Louisville's Robin Hood drug dealer dies
All the federales say
They could have had him any day
But they let him slip away
Retired Metro narcotics detectives say he was like a modern-day Robin Hood.
He bought shoes and book bags for teenagers and paid for them to go to college. They in turn tipped him off about hits from other dealers and raids by police.
He called himself "Double R," and for 10 years, from the mid-1990s to the mid-2000s, Reggie Rice was Louisville's biggest drug distributor — the "top dog," said former chief narcotics prosecutor Shane Young.
"If he had been selling Mary Kay, he would have been driving the pink Cadillac," he said.
But Rice always seemed to slip away. He was caught red-handed in a 50-pound cocaine transaction — two kilos were found behind a false wall in his basement. But the charge was dismissed. He ordered a hit on one man whose head was literally blown off, according to prosecutors and police, but got away with that too. His only drug conviction was for possessing a mere two grams of cocaine.
Rice was so elusive that Commonwealth's Attorney Dave Stengel would taunt his narcotics prosecutors by serenading them with the song immortalized by Willie Nelson — about the outlaw who slipped away, recalled one of them, McKay Chauvin, now a circuit judge.
Last Sunday, time finally ran out for Reginald Shantez Rice. He died after losing a fight with cancer, said one of his former lawyers, Scott C. Cox. Rice was 41.
Police, prosecutors and detectives who knew him offered oddly affectionate memories for a man they said once controlled the drug trade in Victory Park, Newburg and other city neighborhoods.
"As far as dope dealers go, he was a very honest guy," said Young, now the Hardin County commonwealth's attorney. "He didn't stiff anyone; he didn't snitch. He was not your typical dealer. He was well-spoken and courteous."
Cox, who helped win the dismissal of trafficking charges in 2005 that would have put Rice behind bars for life, said he had little education but was "very bright and could be cunning."
Chauvin said that while Rice "wreaked havoc on the community" through the drugs he sold, he "wasn't necessarily evil.
"People who knew him thought well of him. He played by the drug culture's rules — and those rules require that some people get killed. He would rather do 10 years in prison than testify against someone."
In fact, he once refused to talk to police about a man who shot him in the buttocks during a drug deal gone wrong, or about two others who wrapped him in duct tape and stole $10,000 of his jewelry, said former Louisville Detective David James, now a Metro councilman.
James and other former detectives say Rice survived and thrived because he worked only with people he trusted.
And they say when he needed to use force, he hired others to do his dirty work, most notably the notorious Ricky Kelly, who is charged with one pending murder and has been linked to many others.
"You have to insulate and you have to intimidate," said former narcotics Detective Bob O'Neil, who retired in 2004.
Rice also bought goodwill by giving money to local churches and for college scholarships, hoping that if he were ever taken to trial, he might have one or two friendly jurors, O'Neil said.
"He won their hearts and minds," said Fritz Graas, another former Metro Narcotics detective. "People would pass information to him and they wouldn't cooperate with police."
James and Young said Rice started out selling "20 cent pieces" as a teenager under another legendary drug distributor, LaPugh Rutledge, whose organization operated in Los Angeles, Louisville and Birmingham, Ala. James said Rutledge gave many dealers their start by fronting them drugs, then collecting the money after 30 days.
Rice lived near Victory Park but would often hang out at Southwick Homes, where he befriended Derek Anderson, the future Doss High School, University of Kentucky and NBA star. Anderson said he was 12 at the time and didn't know Rice was selling drugs.
"He didn't talk a lot, but when he talked, everybody listened," Anderson said in an interview.
Rice moved up the ranks in the early 1990s, former detectives say. He was busted during an alleged buy in 1995 in the parking lot of Jay's Cafeteria but while the seller, who was found with 711 grams of cocaine, was convicted of drug trafficking and sentenced to 18 years in prison, only two grams were found on Rice, and a jury convicted him of possession rather than trafficking. He was sentenced to a single year behind bars.
The next year, according to court records, Rice spotted Marlon Jamie Daniels, who had supposedly ripped off $40,000 from one of Rice's brothers, sitting in a car at a stoplight at Dumesnil and Cypress streets. The driver of Rice's car, Robert Eugene Carr, told police that Rice offered a third man, Dante Usher, "a nice piece of money" to kill Daniels, and that Usher blew his head off with a shotgun as his girlfriend sat next to him in the passenger's seat.
Rice and Usher were charged with murder but Carr, who got 10 years for facilitation to the crime, wouldn't testify against them, and they both went free, according to Chauvin, who prosecuted the case, which he dubbed the "Pulp Fiction" murder, after the bloody movie by that name.
Rice did spend two years in custody awaiting trial, and Chauvin said he told Rice's lawyer that was a moral victory. "I said every day he spends in jail is another day he doesn't kill somebody."
Rice got out and prospered. He built a $305,000, 2,500-square-foot home in the Little Spring Farm subdivision near Mount Washington. He ran a remodeling company, a car detail shop and a pressure-wash company. He had an investment account at Hilliard Lyons and a money market account at PNC. And he splurged on jewelry, including gold watches, rings and chains with 4, 5 and even 7 carats of diamonds and other precious stones.
Then he appeared to be caught dead to rights.
After legally wiretapping 4,280 conversations on his cell phone, federal and state authorities pounced on him on Aug. 7, 2004, at a McDonald's on Preston Highway as he was negotiating to buy a huge haul of cocaine from two Mexican nationals. Agents found 44 pounds of coke in the door panels of the mens' Honda and two more kilos' worth in Rice's home at 4702 Unseld — along with an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle, a 9mm semi-automatic assault rifle and a Glock .40 handgun.
Rice and 11 others were arrested, but their lawyers discovered an issue with the search warrant application. An FBI agent swore in an affidavit that physical surveillance on the suspects had been conducted first, as required under federal law. But when he testified, he admitted that agents hadn't conducted any surveillance. A judge said he had no choice but to throw out the wiretaps and their fruits, and his ruling was affirmed.
Rice was convicted only of illegally possessing firearms and sentenced to 37 months, the time he'd already served awaiting trial. The drug charges were dismissed, and in 2008 he walked out of jail a free man.
Defense lawyers saluted the court for the ruling, while Graas saw it differently.
"I think it was a total tragedy," he said.
Rice had lost status when he returned to the streets, Young said. "When you are out, somebody always takes your place," he said.
Rice lived a quiet life until confessed murderer Francois Cunningham told authorities during a March 2010 interview that Rice's old friend, Anderson, by then retired from the NBA after 11 seasons, had bankrolled drug buys made by Rice's Newburg organization.
One of Anderson's lawyers, Cox, vigorously denied the allegation while another attorney, Alex Dathorne, said Anderson was investigated by federal agents and never charged.
Now a Southern California-based producer, screenwriter, philanthropist and entrepreneur, Anderson, who regularly visited Rice in University of Louisville Hospital as he lay dying, said he will be forever loyal to him.
"He was great friends and will always be great friends," Anderson said.
Chauvin offered a more mixed view.
Rice "followed a code" and may have shared generously from the sale of his product, Chauvin said.
But given what he sold, Chauvin said, "Even if he cured cancer, it wouldn't make up for the lives he ruined."
All the federales say
They could have had him any day
But they let him slip away
Retired Metro narcotics detectives say he was like a modern-day Robin Hood.
He bought shoes and book bags for teenagers and paid for them to go to college. They in turn tipped him off about hits from other dealers and raids by police.
He called himself "Double R," and for 10 years, from the mid-1990s to the mid-2000s, Reggie Rice was Louisville's biggest drug distributor — the "top dog," said former chief narcotics prosecutor Shane Young.
"If he had been selling Mary Kay, he would have been driving the pink Cadillac," he said.
But Rice always seemed to slip away. He was caught red-handed in a 50-pound cocaine transaction — two kilos were found behind a false wall in his basement. But the charge was dismissed. He ordered a hit on one man whose head was literally blown off, according to prosecutors and police, but got away with that too. His only drug conviction was for possessing a mere two grams of cocaine.
Rice was so elusive that Commonwealth's Attorney Dave Stengel would taunt his narcotics prosecutors by serenading them with the song immortalized by Willie Nelson — about the outlaw who slipped away, recalled one of them, McKay Chauvin, now a circuit judge.
Last Sunday, time finally ran out for Reginald Shantez Rice. He died after losing a fight with cancer, said one of his former lawyers, Scott C. Cox. Rice was 41.
Police, prosecutors and detectives who knew him offered oddly affectionate memories for a man they said once controlled the drug trade in Victory Park, Newburg and other city neighborhoods.
"As far as dope dealers go, he was a very honest guy," said Young, now the Hardin County commonwealth's attorney. "He didn't stiff anyone; he didn't snitch. He was not your typical dealer. He was well-spoken and courteous."
Cox, who helped win the dismissal of trafficking charges in 2005 that would have put Rice behind bars for life, said he had little education but was "very bright and could be cunning."
Chauvin said that while Rice "wreaked havoc on the community" through the drugs he sold, he "wasn't necessarily evil.
"People who knew him thought well of him. He played by the drug culture's rules — and those rules require that some people get killed. He would rather do 10 years in prison than testify against someone."
In fact, he once refused to talk to police about a man who shot him in the buttocks during a drug deal gone wrong, or about two others who wrapped him in duct tape and stole $10,000 of his jewelry, said former Louisville Detective David James, now a Metro councilman.
James and other former detectives say Rice survived and thrived because he worked only with people he trusted.
And they say when he needed to use force, he hired others to do his dirty work, most notably the notorious Ricky Kelly, who is charged with one pending murder and has been linked to many others.
"You have to insulate and you have to intimidate," said former narcotics Detective Bob O'Neil, who retired in 2004.
Rice also bought goodwill by giving money to local churches and for college scholarships, hoping that if he were ever taken to trial, he might have one or two friendly jurors, O'Neil said.
"He won their hearts and minds," said Fritz Graas, another former Metro Narcotics detective. "People would pass information to him and they wouldn't cooperate with police."
James and Young said Rice started out selling "20 cent pieces" as a teenager under another legendary drug distributor, LaPugh Rutledge, whose organization operated in Los Angeles, Louisville and Birmingham, Ala. James said Rutledge gave many dealers their start by fronting them drugs, then collecting the money after 30 days.
Rice lived near Victory Park but would often hang out at Southwick Homes, where he befriended Derek Anderson, the future Doss High School, University of Kentucky and NBA star. Anderson said he was 12 at the time and didn't know Rice was selling drugs.
"He didn't talk a lot, but when he talked, everybody listened," Anderson said in an interview.
Rice moved up the ranks in the early 1990s, former detectives say. He was busted during an alleged buy in 1995 in the parking lot of Jay's Cafeteria but while the seller, who was found with 711 grams of cocaine, was convicted of drug trafficking and sentenced to 18 years in prison, only two grams were found on Rice, and a jury convicted him of possession rather than trafficking. He was sentenced to a single year behind bars.
The next year, according to court records, Rice spotted Marlon Jamie Daniels, who had supposedly ripped off $40,000 from one of Rice's brothers, sitting in a car at a stoplight at Dumesnil and Cypress streets. The driver of Rice's car, Robert Eugene Carr, told police that Rice offered a third man, Dante Usher, "a nice piece of money" to kill Daniels, and that Usher blew his head off with a shotgun as his girlfriend sat next to him in the passenger's seat.
Rice and Usher were charged with murder but Carr, who got 10 years for facilitation to the crime, wouldn't testify against them, and they both went free, according to Chauvin, who prosecuted the case, which he dubbed the "Pulp Fiction" murder, after the bloody movie by that name.
Rice did spend two years in custody awaiting trial, and Chauvin said he told Rice's lawyer that was a moral victory. "I said every day he spends in jail is another day he doesn't kill somebody."
Rice got out and prospered. He built a $305,000, 2,500-square-foot home in the Little Spring Farm subdivision near Mount Washington. He ran a remodeling company, a car detail shop and a pressure-wash company. He had an investment account at Hilliard Lyons and a money market account at PNC. And he splurged on jewelry, including gold watches, rings and chains with 4, 5 and even 7 carats of diamonds and other precious stones.
Then he appeared to be caught dead to rights.
After legally wiretapping 4,280 conversations on his cell phone, federal and state authorities pounced on him on Aug. 7, 2004, at a McDonald's on Preston Highway as he was negotiating to buy a huge haul of cocaine from two Mexican nationals. Agents found 44 pounds of coke in the door panels of the mens' Honda and two more kilos' worth in Rice's home at 4702 Unseld — along with an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle, a 9mm semi-automatic assault rifle and a Glock .40 handgun.
Rice and 11 others were arrested, but their lawyers discovered an issue with the search warrant application. An FBI agent swore in an affidavit that physical surveillance on the suspects had been conducted first, as required under federal law. But when he testified, he admitted that agents hadn't conducted any surveillance. A judge said he had no choice but to throw out the wiretaps and their fruits, and his ruling was affirmed.
Rice was convicted only of illegally possessing firearms and sentenced to 37 months, the time he'd already served awaiting trial. The drug charges were dismissed, and in 2008 he walked out of jail a free man.
Defense lawyers saluted the court for the ruling, while Graas saw it differently.
"I think it was a total tragedy," he said.
Rice had lost status when he returned to the streets, Young said. "When you are out, somebody always takes your place," he said.
Rice lived a quiet life until confessed murderer Francois Cunningham told authorities during a March 2010 interview that Rice's old friend, Anderson, by then retired from the NBA after 11 seasons, had bankrolled drug buys made by Rice's Newburg organization.
One of Anderson's lawyers, Cox, vigorously denied the allegation while another attorney, Alex Dathorne, said Anderson was investigated by federal agents and never charged.
Now a Southern California-based producer, screenwriter, philanthropist and entrepreneur, Anderson, who regularly visited Rice in University of Louisville Hospital as he lay dying, said he will be forever loyal to him.
"He was great friends and will always be great friends," Anderson said.
Chauvin offered a more mixed view.
Rice "followed a code" and may have shared generously from the sale of his product, Chauvin said.
But given what he sold, Chauvin said, "Even if he cured cancer, it wouldn't make up for the lives he ruined."
