The Last Kings (6 page)

“Keep your phone on OK, shorty?” he said smiling. “Something big is about to go down.”

Before I could inquire on what the hell he was talking about, he was gone again. Seconds after his exit, Mocha reappeared. She saw the bewildered look on my face and held up her hands.

“What just happened?” she asked me, wanting to know all of the details.

“I-I don't know,” I said honestly. “Come on, let's go.” I stood up to leave the garage and ponder over Ray's words.

“Did you get your answer?” she pressed again walking after me.

“We'll see,” I said and got into my car.

“I drove all the way down here for a fuckin'
we'll see
?”

“Yea,” I told her. “You did. I'll see you back at home.”

I started my car and sped off, leaving her on the sidewalk to inhale my exhaust. I knew that was rude since I'd told her to come meet me, but whatever. I had too many of my own thoughts to sort through. If Ray didn't accept my business proposition, I honestly didn't know what I was going to do with my life. I would rather be a broke homeless person on the street than stuck in a career I hated for the rest of my life. The streets were all I knew, and there was money in them. So why not invest? I couldn't help but to wonder what Ray was going to say when he called me; hopefully, something good.

Hopefully.

Ray handed the shiny silver keys back to the owner of the green pickup and closed up the shop once it drove off. He was no longer in the dirty overalls that he wore on the days he chose to work at his uncle's shop. He'd gone to the bathroom in his uncle's office and taken a shower. When he emerged, he looked like a new man. Gone were the somewhat thuggish clothes he'd become accustomed to wearing. Replacing them was a light green Gucci button up that was slightly tucked into his tan Gucci slacks, and on his feet he wore light green Gucci dress shoes to match. The shoes added a nice touch, and with his dreads pulled back into a ponytail, Ray's appearance was very suave. As soon as he put on his coat and stepped out of the shop to lock the door, an all-black Mercedes with windows tinted so dark pulled up. You couldn't see who the passengers inside were. It slowed to a stop in front of the shop. Ray glanced down at the diamond-studded Rolex on his wrist gleaming back up at him. It read six o'clock.

Right on time,
Ray thought to himself as he approached the vehicle.

Ray was supposed to be handling some business for Coopa. Word had it that another one of his houses had gotten hit. But if all went well, that wouldn't be Ray's problem any longer, so he didn't answer his call.

Lately, Coopa had been on some acting-funny shit with Ray, but Ray knew what was going on. He didn't speak about it, especially when people brought it to his attention, but he knew that Coopa was losing his grip on the game. Ray knew he'd been doing the thing that led to every great hustler's demise. He'd started smoking his own product. Ray had always been observant so he could tell by the slight twitch in Coopa's right eye and by the way he constantly rubbed his hands together that he was on drugs. Those were two things he didn't do before, and as soon as he started doing them, his empire began to crumble. Coopa also started to make poor choices in business and putting snakes on. He was putting his trust in all the wrong people. Within a year, almost half a million dollars came up unspoken for. No one knew that but Ray and Coopa, and that was another reason Ray didn't trust him. Coopa noticed all of that from the beginning but hadn't done anything to prevent it except kill the people he actually found out for sure were stealing from him. Why would Ray make an effort to save a man who couldn't save himself? The game was going to have its way with Coopa. Ray wasn't a fortune-teller, but he could see that.

Ray knew when he first started working with Coopa no good would come from it. His pockets would stay fat for a while, but he knew eventually the time would come when he would have to strike out on his own. Ray had the mind-set of a real man and the swagger of a hustler. He was intelligent, ruthless, and got every job done without a blemish. He knew that in order to set the operation off right, he would need a connect with some product that nobody had ever seen. It was backward a little bit because Ray had helped Coopa add on to his empire, only to take it into his own grasp. He knew Coopa wasn't going to bow without a fight. Ray had heavy artillery, but Coopa had heavy artillery and the manpower. For a while, Ray felt like an ant in the shadow of a shoe . . . until one night an unknown number hit his phone.

The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to one Ray had never heard before. Listening to the person speak, he knew it belonged to someone of Italian heritage. The person informed him that they'd been watching him very closely, and they liked the way he handled his business. Told him that they couldn't say much over the phone but to be ready at six p.m. the following Thursday in business attire.

Any other time, Ray would have been suspicious of a setup, but something in him told him it wasn't. He walked to the car, and the door opened for him. Ray entered the car with three Italians seated, all dressed in black Armani suits. Ray studied all of their hardened faces trying to read them, and, in turn, they did the same to him. To Ray's surprise, he recognized one of the men in the car as a man who'd been to his uncle's shop a few times for minor car problems. He'd told Uncle Rojer that he was just in town for a few days and wanted his vehicle inspected. His name was Vinny.

Vinny stared at Ray and was very impressed with his attire. He knew from the first day he met Ray that he was dealing with someone with potential. The way he knew numbers was impeccable. There would be no getting over on him. He could see by Ray's poise that he was different, unlike the two-bit street hustlers he'd grown accustomed to seeing in Detroit. The majority of them weren't about business, just quick cash, but with the information he'd dug up about Ray, he knew he would be the perfect attribute to his cartel. Vinny needed to expand his work. He didn't want to control any territory, he just wanted to get off his product. He was looking to be the supplier; however, he needed someone trustworthy and business savvy enough to supply to. At first he'd heard about a man named Coopa, but after scoping him out for a few days, he saw how sloppy he handled his work. Doing business with a man like him would be too much of a liability. Vinny needed someone he could depend on. Not someone who would end him up in federal prison.

After testing Coopa's product, Vinny knew for a fact that the hunger in Detroit was real because nobody wanted to deal with a plug who couldn't even deliver. Vinny heard about Ray through the grapevine and was pleased with what he'd seen. He had one of his men contact him and ready a meeting as soon as possible. The streets of Detroit were getting hungry, and Vinny had what their appetite craved.

“Gentlemen,” Ray broke the silence nodding his head at the occupants of the Mercedes, and they returned the gesture.

“I believe we met indirectly before,” Vinny said, holding his hand out from the far side of the backseat where he and Ray sat. “I am Vinny, and that's Eduardo,” he nodded to the heavyset, slick-haired driver. “And that man right there is Stanley.”

Stanley nodded at them from the passenger seat. His sleek black hair was combed up into a Mohawk, making his beaklike nose even more distinguishable. Stanley gave Ray the eye, and Ray stared back wondering why the muhfucka was staring at him. Stanley then nodded his approval to Vinny, who smiled wide. Vinny was a middle-aged man. He'd come from a wealthy family of mobsters, so he knew no other life than the dirty one he lived.

“This, my friends,” Vinny pointed at Ray, “is the future! Ray, you're not new to this, so let us get straight into business.”

“I couldn't have said it any better myself,” Ray said cockily and got comfortable in his heated leather seat waiting for Vinny to continue.

“As I'm sure you know, Coopa has some very unhappy customers. He doesn't have what the streets are looking for, and pretty soon, he's going to pay for it. Probably with his life or his dick; one of the two.” Vinny's accent was laying on thick with every word spoken. “The city needs some new work . . . and a new leader. Someone willing to get their hands dirty.”

“So what are you proposing, Vinny?” Ray asked, cutting to the chase. “You got some work for me?”

Vinny chuckled at Ray's boldness, but little did he know Ray was just as deadly as him.

“You know how this shit works. To rule, you need a connect. I got what you're looking for,” he told Ray, staring seriously into his eyes. “I'm not going to lie. I've been watching your every move for a few days now, and I like you, kid. You're smooth; the little operation you have going on is nice. I just don't know yet if I can trust you.”

Ray nodded, agreeing with what he said. He didn't trust them either. He'd heard crazy things about the Italian cartel. They were up there with the Dominicans—definitely not anyone to be on any beef level with.

“However, I feel that you're the man who can get the job done. What I'm saying, Ray, is I need you,” Vinny said. “None of that homo shit. This is strictly business. I need my work in Detroit, and I need you to push it.”

Damn, these muhfuckas been following me?
Ray thought to himself making a mental note to double security.

Ray sat taking everything Vinny was saying in, not trying to look too eager. But inside, he couldn't believe his luck.

“You want me to just be down with this proposition?” Ray asked. “I don't know you muhfuckas from a can of paint, so tell me what's really good?”

“I understand your caution, Ray. We randomly contacted you, and now we're offering you the place of a king. I can see where thoughts get skeptical, but I wouldn't even waste my time sitting here talking to you if this wasn't a serious business inquiry. I need a yes or no answer in thirty seconds, or I will take you back to your uncle's shop and we can pretend this conversation never happened . . . Well, until I send the choppers for you.”

Damn, these muhfuckas really aren't playing around,
Ray thought.
To be real they had me with that king shit.

“A'ight, how much are we talking, and when are we doing this?” Ray asked.

“Smart man!” Vinny smiled, pleased with Ray's answer.

Eduardo and Stanley smirked at each other from the front seat, and Ray saw it, but he kept his cool. He knew he was playing ball in their field.

“I'm going to give you a little product first, just to see how fast you can get it off, and when you do, I'll give you more,” Vinny explained.

Ray listened but wasn't with that plan at all. He already had a plan formulated, and he knew exactly what he was doing. Vinny was now just giving him a reason to go through with it instead of waiting.

“No, fuck that,” he said shaking his head, surprising all of the passengers inside the vehicle. “If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way. My city, my rules. I'm a grown-ass man. Ain't no fucking way I'm about to just let you
give
me any product. Off tops, I'ma buy that shit and flip it in no time. Then I'll just re-up from there. I can't make a profit off another man's empire. Been there, done that. All I need from you is a team and artillery. I already have three ready to get it with me. I know once Coopa catches wind on what's going on, it's going to be bloodshed. But honestly, right now, this money is more important.”

Vinny sat taken aback but was beyond impressed on how the business meeting was being flipped around on him. Ray was definitely the right pick for the job.

“What are you saying, Ray?” Vinny asked him.

“What I'm saying is you need me as much as I need you. Otherwise, you would have never contacted me in the first place. Instead of putting yourself in some shit by fronting me, I'll just buy that shit and start my own operation. I'm not stupid or new to this, but you do need new blood, and that's me. I live and breathe the hustle, and I'll dead a muhfucka quick over my paper,” Ray told him. “I'ma need to test your product first to see if it's even worth the hassle.”

“Of course,” Vinny nodded. “Stanley?”

On cue, Stanley handed Vinny a kilo of cocaine and a small pocketknife.

“Here you go.” Vinny handed Ray the brick and sat back and watched, already knowing the value of his own product.

Ray made a small incision in the brick and tasted a small amount. He had been in the business long enough to use that as a method to level grades of cocaine, and Vinny's product had passed the test. He nodded his head in approval. He already saw the dollar signs flashing before his eyes, knowing he had the key to the city in his hands at that very moment.

“All right, coo, this is what I'ma have?” He had to make sure.

“Yes,” Vinny informed him. “How many?”

“I'ma need thirty.”

“Five hundred thousand,” Vinny said instantly and watched to see if Ray would back down due to the price.

“Done.” Ray didn't even flinch. “I'll give you a drop-off spot, and we'll make the exchange.”

Vinny smiled one last time, knowing then that he'd made a longtime business partner. He reached out and shook Ray's hand again.

“All right, I'm going to set you up with this shit personally,” Vinny said.

He liked how Ray conducted business. He was going to make his money regardless, and now he had a permanent buyer. Vinny was very pleased. They made plans to meet at a low-key spot Ray knew the next day.

“The shit here is garbage. People pay good money for the shit they smoke, inject, or snort. Why not give them their money's worth?” Vinny said to Ray as they pulled back in front of Uncle Rojer's shop. “Starting today, Ray, you are a king, not a street hustler. You're better than Coopa. Starting today, Detroit is yours. I have two people perfect for this . . . Don't worry, we did background checks on them, so loyalty is not a worry. You sure you can trust your people?”

“I'm one hundred percent sure,” Ray told him, getting out of the car.

“All right . . . I'll see you soon, kid,” Vinny said, and with that, he pulled off.

Ray pulled his cell phone out watching the black Mercedes round the corner and leave his sights. After phoning Sadie, Mocha, and Tyler informing them to meet him at his home, Ray decided to take a walk through his hood. He changed from suit and tie to a casual Diamond muscle shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. His bulletproof vest snug on his torso ensured that no bullet would penetrate, and the .45 on his hip dared a nigga to put his vest to use. He left his Escalade parked in the parking lot of the car shop and made his way on foot toward his Grandma Rae's house.

Putting his Wolf Grey 5s to use, he worked his way through the neighborhood he grew up in. Everything in it was a familiar sight. The houses were run-down; some yards cut and some weren't. Kids were running around like they didn't have any sense. Ray saw the swift moves of his young boys hitting the block. Fiends were everywhere begging for hits, but Ray didn't feed their hunger. None of the product they snorted could be tied back to him in any way. They were too messy. The last thing he needed was for one of them to get caught up with the law and start snitching. The people his boys served were high rollers who had an addiction to the candy Ray provided.