Free The Last Kings by C.N. Phillips

one last time, knowing then that he’d made a longtime business partner. He reached out and shook Ray’s hand again.
    â€œAll 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.
    â€œThe 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?”
    â€œI’m one hundred percent sure,” Ray told him, getting out of the car.
    â€œAll 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.
    The feds had moved in and out of his block, even sent a couple of undercover cops to scope Ray’s small operation. But when their bodies were found dismembered, that never happened again. Ray didn’t move any product on his block, so any warrant to search it was deemed pointless. Out of all of the people Coopa put on, Ray’s operation was the cleanest. Ray had a list of clients he served, and they bought in bulk, not by the hit. They always knew where one of Ray’s workers would be posted on the block to place their order. A place and time would then be designated for a drop-off and pickup. First, of course, the money would have to be wired into an account that was opened and closed that same day. Ray had work moving all through Detroit, and he not only fed his block, but everyone else’s too. He kept the block cleansed of Coopa’s work. It was smart, but the real reason was out of respect for Grandma Rae.
    People all around the way showed him love as he passed them. The daylight was completely gone, only to be replaced by streetlights. Ray saw the streets come alive. It was rare to see him walking anywhere, so many of the neighborhood rats tried to get his attention by swishing quickly in front of him or saying “Hi,” flirtatiously. Ray only gave head nods and kept it moving while he tried to gather his thoughts.
    As he walked and ignored the basic hoes cooing his name, he came across two of the most thorough youngins he had pushing for him. D and Amann were posted on a street corner engaged in a conversation with two young women. They were bad, and both had