Thirty years, a book that talked too much and a jury that didn't take three hours. That's the dry summary of the case that has just come out of the media fridge. On Monday, August 31, 2026, in Las Vegas, Duane Keith Davis, 63, aka Keffe D, former "shot caller" of the South Side Compton Crips, was found guilty of first-degree murder with use of a deadly weapon in the death of Tupac Shakur. The rap legend, 25, had been riddled with bullets on September 7, 1996 near the Strip; he died six days later. Davis is not accused of having fired. He is accused of having ordered it, provided the gun and led the hunt. The jury believed him. Or rather: it believed the man Davis was for years before he retracted. The franceinfo dispatch, dated September 1, correctly summarizes the essentials. Sentencing set for October 13. Davis who, in the courtroom, says he wants to appeal. That is accurate. Several independent sources – New York Times, BBC, Los Angeles Times, CNN – confirm the same scenario: short deliberation, unanimous verdict, detention without bail pending the sentence which can go up to life imprisonment. Shakur's family shed a tear and hugged the prosecutors. Davis, for his part, asked for "his belongings" to be returned before promising an appeal. The judicial theater has its lines. Where does the buzz come from now? Because the case dragged on for three decades like an urban myth in gold coins. Crips gangs against Bloods, Death Row labels against Bad Boy, East Coast-West Coast, Suge Knight wounded in the same BMW, nephew Orlando "Baby Lane" Anderson beaten earlier at the MGM Grand, white Cadillac, Glock. All the folklore. For years, no charges. Then Davis started talking. Police interview in 2008 (under a certain partial immunity agreement), documentaries, podcasts, and especially his 2019 memoirs, Compton Street Legend. In it he placed himself at the front of the Cadillac, handing the weapon to the back. Las Vegas investigators reopened the case. Arrest in 2023. Trial in August 2026. The rest is accelerated judicial history. The established facts fit in a few lines. Davis is the only survivor of the four men the prosecution places in the shooter's vehicle. The prosecution played hours of recordings in which he talks about himself. The defense hammered the absence of physical evidence – no miracle DNA, no signed magic bullet – and called the confessions bragging to sell paper and make himself a street legend. "Full of crap," a lawyer summed up in substance. The jury did not follow. Under Nevada law, aiding or ordering a murder is enough to be convicted of the crime. Period. What remains unclear or exaggerated? The exact shooter is not formally identified beyond Davis's versions (often the nephew Anderson, who died in 1998 in another shooting). The "gang" enhancement was dropped after the verdict for reasons of witness logistics. And above all: since his arrest, Davis denies everything. His own words of yesterday have become today's fiction. We've seen people drown in their biography. He just forgot to get off the page before printing. Blind spots exist. No living accomplice on the bench. No perfect reconstruction without the defendant's words. Conspiracy theories (ranging from Diddy to the secret services by way of the neighbor across the street) will continue to loop on social networks; the verdict does not stifle them, it sometimes feeds them. On X, reactions oscillate between "justice for Pac" and "he sold himself out all alone." Classic. Provisional, proportionate conclusion: the franceinfo statement is solid. A former member of a Los Angeles gang has indeed been found guilty, nearly thirty years later. The sentencing date and the announced appeal check out. The factual skeleton holds. The rest – the pose of late repentance, the myth that refuses to die, the book that turns against its author – belongs to the human chronicle. Davis talked too much when it suited him. Justice has just answered him, in a low but firm voice: we heard you. Next up, October 13. And no doubt on appeal. In this case, the last word has never been the last.