Mr. Down for Whatever, page 1
part #1 of Baes of Juneteenth Series
Mr. Down for Whatever
Baes of Juneteenth
Elle Wright
Contents
Dear Reader
The Untold Legacies
1. War
2. Think
3. I Can’t Get Next to You
4. I Wanna Be Where You Are
5. You Really Got a Hold on Me
6. One Man Can Change the World
7. Inner City Blues
8. Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours)
Epilogue
Baes of Juneteenth Series
Wait a Minute. Is that…?
It’s Not Them, It’s Only Her
Excerpt: It’s Not Them, It’s Only Her
Acknowledgments
Connect with Elle!
About the Author
Also by Elle Wright
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr. Down for Whatever
Copyright @ 2023 by Elle Wright
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9854542-4-6
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Excerpt from It’s Not Them, It’s Only Her
copyright @ 2023 by Elle Wright
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this work made be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Elle Wrights Books, LLC
Ypsilanti, Michigan
www.ElleWright.com
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Copy Editor/Proofreading:
Melissa Ringsted
There For You Editing
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Cover Design:
Sherelle Green
Mr. Down for Whatever
Have you ever received the wrong text from the right person?
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One thing about me? I don’t play games. Another thing about me? I don’t waste time.
I’ve built my reputation by treating my patients, my students, and my colleagues with respect.
In my role as Mr. Black Detroit, my focus is supporting my community and planning the city’s annual Juneteenth celebration.
Again, my time is valuable. I should’ve ignored the text. But… There’s something about Daphne that makes me want to engage. Maybe it’s the way she commands a room and isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Or maybe it’s the glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes. It’s probably just her. Whatever it is in the beginning quickly morphs into something else entirely, though.
Soon, I can’t get enough of her. But can I convince her to take a chance on me?
Dear Reader
Heyyyy!!!!
It’s been such an honor to work on this series!
I’ve written three Bae stories, and this one was so different for me. For one, the hero and the heroine are in their forties! Grown. And Sexy! Then, bringing Juneteenth into it … I enjoyed writing about how impactful this holiday is to so many people. I especially loved writing about Detroit!
Nero is one of those heroes I want to bottle up and keep for a rainy day. I loved his journey to forever with Daphne.
I hope you enjoy them!
Love,
Elle
www.ellewright.com
For everyone who died in and for the struggle.
The Untold Legacies
Mr. Black Organization
Every legacy has a story … this is ours.
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NERO
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February, This Year
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“A legacy forged in fire and created with a vision for our future.”
My grandfather’s words filtered through my mind as I stared at the African American Historical Museum before me. A cold chill crept up my spine. Despite the strides made, the triumphs shared, it almost felt like their efforts weren’t enough. While I wouldn’t discount progress, our communities were struggling to remain the vibrant beacons of light our elders fought so hard to build. Inspiration had yielded to influence. Social media had replaced face-to-face contact. Respect for each other seemed to be a thing of the past. “We shall overcome” became “It’s all about me.” Our elders were dying. The bridge to the past was buckling under pressure.
I crept around the back of the museum. Before I arrived earlier, I’d studied the hand drawn map for hours, memorizing the distinct script on the tattered page. My grandfather’s writing.
Levi Bond.
Better known as Ace.
I was here today because of him, because of the urgency in his spirit that had propelled him to link up with a group of powerful men to form a secret brotherhood. The mission was as clear then as it was now. To uplift. To protect. To restore. By any means necessary.
The groundskeepers had done a good job of maintaining the expansive lawn, making my trek easier. It took several minutes to get to my destination, just long enough for me to regret wearing a three-piece suit and a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes. But the directions on the map led me to an abandoned shack on the outskirts of the property, preserved through the community’s efforts to designate this site a historical landmark. After glancing at my watch, I studied the structure. Traveling to this place served a dual purpose, and while I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty, I had business to handle.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I answered, “Yeah, Ace.”
My grandfather’s low voice came through the speaker. “Did you find it?”
“I’m here now. Still not sure why you encouraged me to dress up if I had to walk a muthafuckin’ mile in these damn shoes.” The suit I didn’t mind. But these damn shoes? I learned the hard way on my first day as a resident, wandering the halls at the University of Michigan Medical Center, that comfortable shoes were a necessity for my job.
Ace laughed. “Sometimes you have to get dirty to find the treasure. Remember that.”
I grumbled another curse. “Alright. I’ll call you when I’m done with everything.” I ended the call and made my way into the shack, using the trick my grandfather had shown me on the door. Luckily, his memory was impeccable because I was able to retrieve the case he’d stored there and make it back to the museum in record time.
Dusting myself off, I made the short walk to the entrance of the underground bunker, the place where it all started. Decades ago, five men formed the Mr. Black Organization under the cloak of secrecy. Today, the organization had chapters in every state and members in every sector of society from celebrities and professional athletes to clergymen and business moguls.
To honor my grandfather’s commitment, I joined the organization at twenty-one and had remained a dues-paying member ever since. And while I respected the original mission of the organization, my career and my family had been my priority. Until now. As the current Mr. Black Detroit, I hoped to make impactful changes to my community and the organization during my time as the figurehead for our chapter.
As I neared the meeting space, I glanced at the pictures lining the walls in the hallway. I paused at a black and white image of Ace hanging on the wall, emerging from the shadows. The way he lives his life. The photograph was one I’d seen before many times, but seeing it there filled me with pride. I peered up the man who raised me and felt the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. Because I was the last Mr. Bond in his bloodline. Thankfully, Ace had brothers who had sons and grandsons, but Ace only had me. And I wouldn’t let him down.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized Preston was standing next to me. I eyed him out of the corner of his eye. “What’s up?” I murmured, forcing my attention back to the present.
Preston’s gaze remained on my grandfather’s portrait. “It’s been a long time coming, huh?”
The fact that all five founding members of the organization had legacies serving in Mr. Black roles for their respective cities wasn’t lost on me. Dante Powell. Preston Scott. Titan Stone. Porter Crowne. All of us tied by the bonds our grandfathers and great-grandfathers had made in this very room decades ago.
“From my perspective, we should take this as a sign,” Preston continued. “It’s time to take this organization back to its roots.”
I observed the man next to me. Although Preston was younger than me, his serious demeanor reminded me of my grandfather. Intense. Intentional. Intelligent. We had that in common, so I was certain this meeting would be the start of something unforgettable. And I’m down for whatever is necessary.
“That’s what I’m talking about, brotha.” I held out a fist, and he bumped it with his.
I followed Preston into the room and greeted Titan with a dap. “What’s good, man?”
“Same shit, different day,” I grumbled, glancing back at Preston, who had his head buried in a book. “You good?”
Titan waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah. Guy had me cracking up before you got here.”
“How’s the family?” I asked. Distance had limited interactions between the families, but we kept up with each other in various ways. Usually, off the grid. “It’s been a minute.”
While Titan and I caught up, Dante arrived and joined the conversation. Soon, the discussion veered into heated territory as we debated the current NBA season.
“I don’t care what no one says, the Mavs should have taken it last year,” Titan proudly proclaimed.
I waved a dismissive hand. “Man, please. Y’all Dallas fans have always been delusional.”
“They’re not the only ones. When Detroit makes the playoffs, maybe you can talk to me,” Dante taunted. “Better yet, why don’t you just give it up and root for the winning team?”
As usual, Detroit stayed losing, but I was a diehard Pistons fan. I could—and would—talk shit until the day I died. “That won’t be L.A., so I’ll gladly put my money on The Nuggets.”
Dante grumbled a curse. “Whatever, man. We got this.”
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
Finally, Porter entered the room. Of all the gentlemen in the room, I’d interacted with Porter and his family the most since Chicago was a mere four-hour drive from Detroit.
“Nice of you to finally show the fuck up,” Titan said, giving Porter a dap.
“You know me.” While all of us commented on his penchant for being late, Porter made his way around the room before he stopped at me. “Good to see you, old man.”
I chuckled. “Not too old to whoop yo’ ass.”
“How’s your daughter?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Isn’t she graduating from Michigan this year?”
My oldest daughter, Zoe, had followed in my footsteps and would graduate from University of Michigan Medical School this year. “Tread lightly, young brotha.”
Cracking up, Porter patted my back. “I’m a man. And Zoe is beautiful.”
“Beautiful and off-limits to you.” It was all in fun. I knew Porter wasn’t serious. Even if he was, it wasn’t going to happen because Zoe had been living with her girlfriend for two years now. “Tell your father to get at me, though.”
Preston cleared his throat, interrupting our conversation. “Okay, let’s get started.” He took out his tablet. “As part of the founding families, we’ve all been members of Mr. Black since we turned twenty-one. Yet, it wasn’t until I was attending the networking event this past October that I realized for the first time since our grandfathers and great-grandfathers stood in this room, that each founding family has a member as the chosen Mr. Black rep for their city right now.”
It had been over fifty years, which was a damn shame. The brothas on the wall in the hallway had paved the way for the organization to exist and had slowly been pushed out as the tumultuous civil rights era gave way to Reaganomics and the pursuit of the almighty dollar. Somewhere along the line, money became more important than justice. Now the erasure of our culture through various laws and political show threatened everything our forefathers had worked so hard to attain. The freedom to live.
“I suspected it had been a while,” Titan said. “But I must have been so busy with work, I didn’t realize this was the first time in over fifty years.”
Preston nodded. “I don’t think the National Executive Board realizes it either.”
I thought back to something Ace had told me years ago. “You don’t have to care to be affected.” I recalled a moment me and Ace shared during one of the national meetings several years ago. When the conference opened with a popular rapper taking the stage and disrespecting Black women, Ace was disappointed. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mr. Black Boise had given an impassioned speech about our community’s reliance on welfare checks and food stamps. He’d implored us to turn away from our past oppression because racism had been eradicated in America. The man even stated the reasons why Affirmative Action had harmed the race.
Before the speech ended, Ace asked me to follow him. We ended up at a neighborhood basketball court. As we watched the young men play the game, he shared a story about his childhood, about how hard he’d had to fight just to be able to play basketball in the open without harassment. I remembered the look in his eyes, the sadness, the disappointment. He’d placed his hand on my heart and encouraged me to step outside of the examination room and walk a mile in the community. That experience had changed my trajectory and my practice. Ultimately, it had propelled me to accept the nomination from the Detroit chapter and step into the role Ace had originated. So that I could make the change needed.
Dante agreed with Preston. “If they had, no doubt they would have called us into a private meeting at the event.”
I tapped my fingers on the table. “And I still can’t get over the fact that none of the members of our families are sitting on the board right now.” But even as I said it, I knew that was by design. Many of my family members had been deemed too militant, too focused on the struggle.
Before I could call it out, Porter did. He was right. The executive board was full of shit. Since all of us were serving in critical roles within our own communities, we had a prime opportunity to do whatever the hell we needed to do. The conversation went on from there, with each of us voicing our concerns and pondering potential changes.
Preston cleared his throat. “I wanted you all here because Juneteenth is in less than four months, and I think we should make this the most impactful one yet. Change must happen now. Not tomorrow. Not with the next Mr. Black. Right now is our time, fellas, and we best use it effectively.”
As we tossed out ideas, we all resolved to utilize our annual Juneteenth events to target the youth. With a focus on education, we would teach the young, Black men in our communities to aim high, to seek knowledge, to give back—whether it was through tech, history, community events, finance, or health.
Porter pulled out a fifth of imported whiskey and poured three shots for each of us. Tapping the first shot glass on the table, I took it for our grandfathers and great-grandfathers—to pay homage to their vision. The second shot was for my brother, Shaun, who lost his life far too soon. And the last shot … Instead of pouring it on the floor, I tossed it back for the brothas who died in and for the struggle.
As we exchanged ideas, outlined our blueprint for action, I realized it was fate that brought us there tonight. Our forefathers had lit the match. Time and experience had prepared us for this mission. We were all at the same place, at the same time, for a reason. And despite what everyone else thought about decorum and following the rules of order, we were ready to put our feet on some very stiff necks to make shit happen.
Chapter 1
War
NERO
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April, This Year - Detroit, Michigan
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Sometimes an end is just the beginning.
The death of a loved one.
The end of a toxic relationship.
Unfortunately, I’d experienced both too many times to name. Tragedy often happened in cycles. Years of bliss, followed by periods of crushing blows. The simple fact of life was … there was only twenty-four hours in a day. Would I spend that precious time wallowing or winning? In everything, every calamity, every disappointment, I had no choice but to dust myself off and figure my shit out—whether it was making a hard decision, planning a move, or even celebrating the destruction of something harmful to me.
The bulldozer crushed the first wall of my childhood home in the Fitzgerald neighborhood near Puritan Street. The local church at the end of the street had partnered with a local construction company to buy up the abandoned houses near their building. Over recent years, there had been a push to rebuild and repurpose several dilapidated properties for families. Up until now, they’d been able to simply gut the properties because the structures were solid. Unfortunately, our old house was the first one they had to demolish.
