Davis was struck in the head, left ankle, hip and abdomen. He collapsed on the porch and was pronounced dead shortly after the shooting, which happened about 2:30 a.m., police said.
The incident occurred at the front of a tidy two-story brick rowhouse that investigators believe served as a safe house or clubhouse for the JBM.
The house, which had lacy white curtains and dried flowers in the front
window, was the former residence of two of Davis' underlings, whom he allegedly tried to have murdered last year for fear they might become police informers, law enforcement officials said.
One of the two underlings was killed. Two hit men, who prosecutors said were working at Davis' behest, were convicted last month and sentenced to life in prison for the murder.
The JBM, police sources said yesterday, has become increasingly fragmented since the jailing last year of its reputed commander, Aaron Jones, who is awaiting trial in connection with a stabbing. Davis, the sources said, had been a top lieutenant under Jones, and it was expected in some law enforcement quarters that he might succeed Jones.
Instead, JBM operations - chiefly drug dealing and enforcing - seem to have been broken up into territories. Davis, the sources said, appeared to have taken control of operations in Southwest Philadelphia, as well as in West Philadelphia, Wynnefield and Overbrook.
Investigators said they were not certain who killed Davis, or why. They said the killer either walked by the house or was waiting for Davis in the darkness of the narrow side street.
"These people live by violence; they achieve their position by acts of violence," Assistant District Attorney Robert Campolongo, who prosecuted the two hit men last month, said yesterday.
Police said they were hoping to learn more about Davis' final hours from Rodney "Frog" Carson, who appeared to be a close friend of Davis' and who
went with him almost everywhere. Carson's whereabouts were unknown yesterday.
WAS PROMISING BOXER
The grandson of a boxer, Davis had been known as a promising amateur boxer
himself. His boxing talent had been recognized when he was about 7, said former welterweight Dick Turner, who trained Davis at the Kingsessing Recreation Center.
"He could have been great at whatever he did," Turner said yesterday. ''The kid was very talented."
Davis, who fought as a flyweight and later as a lightweight, boxed at state fairs and even traveled to England for a bout, which he won, said Turner and Davis' uncle, Sloan Harrison, who also trained him.
"He was real good," Harrison said yesterday. "He was an exceptional kid. . . . I couldn't tell you what happened to him."
Turner said he believed Davis' career was derailed when he was shot in 1988: "He said he was going to resume after he got well but he never did get back into the gym."
Yesterday, a large clot of the former boxer's blood thickened on the porch on Creighton Street.
Next door a young woman quietly swept out her doorway while a toddler watched.
"The Bible tells you we're living in the last days," the woman said. ''You better believe it."