Freddy Prince

Fighting for his community was always second nature for Freddy. After losing his own mother at the hands of police brutality three years ago, creating a change became his number one priority. Especially for women. Growing up having to be the man of the house changed his outlook on a lot of things in life. Not only did he see the division amongst races, genders, and social classes, but he saw the importance of it as well. Which was why he started the organization Elm Street Community. In honor of his late mother, Elmira “Elm” Prince.

Elm was a fierce woman. Tall and slender, soft-spoken when you were on her good side. She got the nickname “Elm” from her best friend of twenty years after she went postal on a man trying to rough her up. A lot of the gentlemen who tried to pursue her said she reminded them of Pam Grier when she played Jackie Brown—tough as nails but still delicate and beautiful.

“You aren’t nervous, are you?” Mo, his assistant asked. “There’s a lot of white women in the audience today, and you know they only came out to find something to argue about for their lil videos.”

“I’m used to the Karen’s by now,” Freddy chuckled. “I actually find some of their arguments interesting. Do I understand their point of view? Hell nah. But it’s amazing how they twist shit about black people and what we stand for.”

Even though Freddy was one of the most profound feminists and pro-black activists in his hometown of Far Land, Virginia, he maintained his street credibility and always presented himself as himself. The man didn’t put on a front for the cameras. He didn’t switch up his accent or try to sound “white.” He was clear and cutthroat, but with a very charming and classy undertone.

“Well, they really gon be mad after they hear about this center you trying to open,” Mo said. “I don’t see why. They have hella social clubs and brunch parties for the women in their communities. Why us black women can’t have the same?”

“They don’t want black women to see themselves as equals when really, y’all are superior.”

“See!” she exclaimed. “This why I rock with you. You be knowing. Not only do you be knowing, but you always got a bitch back.”

Mo became Freddy’s assistant two months after his first big event. He got invited to the mayor’s office to talk about some information he shared after his mom’s body surfaced, and Mo found her way into his path to warn him. She worked at the mayor’s office around that time and overheard some heavy hitters talking about Freddy possibly being a threat. And even though he had the grace of the mayor, they wanted him dead too. A week later, with Freddy’s protection, she resigned from the mayor’s office and put her best foot on the right side of the law.

While he and Mo waited for their time on stage to come, Freddy took mental notes about everyone in the room. Those who were there to support him, and the ones who were only there for damage control. During his career of shedding light on the corruption in the system, he made more frenemies than he did friends. A lot of those people were older white men and women who just couldn’t believe how far the truth had taken him.

“Freddy,” the director of the seminar approached him with her itinerary in hand. “You’re up next, and the crowd is already eager to see you. I don’t know if it’s that handsome face of yours, or they’re just ready for a riot,” she chuckled.

“I don’t wanna sound full of myself, but I’m gonna go with the first one, Ms. Mary.” Freddy laughed. “You know my intentions are never to start a riot.”

“I’m just messing with you sugar,” the older woman patted his cheek. “We all love you and everything you do for this community. Now get out there and do what you do best.”

The crowd roared when he walked on stage because he had the stage presence of a natural-born speaker and activist. He dressed well. He was very well spoken and engaged with his audience in unforgettable ways. He even respectfully left the floor open for those who wanted to contest his facts with negative opinions. And even though his audience was mostly women, the men came to their feet and gave him props too.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon.”

Freddy smiled and waved his hand along the sea of people. Before he got the chance to speak again, the crowd erupted another time with applause, cheers, and whistles. While they were busy showing him grace, he took a moment to look at the ceiling and raise a finger. It was his way of giving praise to his mom on her throne in the sky.

“Y’all know I never start my speech without telling my mom I love her. If it wasn’t for her and everything I got to experience in my life, I wouldn’t be half the man I am today. So, ma! Thank you. I love you.”

He paused briefly to let his words marinate into the crowd before he continued. It was a crowd control tactic he learned by watching the greatest of the great give their speeches. When it was all said and done, Freddy wanted everybody to remember they were all human beings and even shared some of the same emotions.

“Thank you all for coming out this afternoon. We’re here today to share our thoughts, feelings, and recommendations on a project I’ve been trying to get off the ground for a while now. A social club for black women and black girls looking for guidance, love, and education. Looking for strength. Looking for resources and funding. Whatever it is, we, as a community, can afford to offer. My vision is a place where single mothers can turn for help with their families. A place where senior citizens can come and spend their days of retirement aiding the youth. A place that the homeless can call home.”

Freddy had a lot of great ideas for the community center he wanted to open. What he didn’t have was enough clean cash to get it up and running. Sure, he had the money to buy an entire stadium if he wanted to, but he was sure the government would’ve wanted to know exactly where it came from.

“How are you going to fund this community center?”

Shonnie Mitchell spoke up from her front-row seat in the audience. She was a paid journalist for Mayor Corbin Montgomery’s office, and she was always giving Freddy a hard time. Whether they were at a seminar or in the bedroom, her strong desire to be on top never allowed her to keep her mouth shut.

“That’s a brilliant question,” Freddy said, hating that she even brought it up. “I figured with all the government grants and loans being awarded to the upper class, Elm’s St. Community Center might benefit from a couple of those. We’re accepting donations too, of course. If you’re feeling generous.”

Shonnie shot him a smile while she jotted down some notes in her notepad. There were never any hard feelings between them. Sure, their conversations got heated sometimes, but Freddy knew she was just doing her job.

“The goal for the start-up is to collect as much funding as we can through donations, community events, and bake sales. Whatever it is we have to do, we’re willing to do it in order to see this project through successfully. This is an outlet for our troubled youth. Our struggling parents and the many hopeless addicts we encounter. Being a part of this means you could save a life.”

He used the last hour of his seminar for answering questions from supportive fans and ones from angry congressmen and their puppets. The board was against Freddy opening a community center for black women because they wanted to see the black woman stay down with no forms of empowerment. However, the excuse the board officials gave to the public was that it would raise community taxes, and many people were already struggling. So, those who were against his idea truly thought they were making the best decision.

“You killed that!” Mo dapped him up again when he came offstage. “And of course, Shonnie’s ass was right out there with her head stuck so far up the mayor’s ass, all she can talk is shit.”

“Shonnie’s just doing her job, Mo.”

Freddy laughed because he knew how much Mo couldn’t stand Shonnie. She didn’t like the way she pressed the issue with him in public but loved to have sex with him in private. To her, Shonnie was the definition of a fake-ass hoochie who did whatever it took to get what she wanted.

“Maybe one day she’ll see the grass ain’t greener on the other side and come work for us,” he said.

“Maybe one day I’ll kick her ass.”

Mo rounded up their things and headed off to meet the director of the seminar to collect Freddy’s check. She was also in charge of coordinating the event staff to make sure donation checks got collected and set to be deposited. While she handled that, Freddy remained backstage to take pictures with the other charity advisors and potential donors. It was his least favorite part of being an activist. Sometimes, he felt like he was selling his integrity because he had to associate with people he didn’t like. But, for the sake of his community, he put on his best smile and shook hands with the white devils.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Fredrick Prince?”

The softness in the voice reaching out to him sounded like one of Freddy’s favorite songs. The tone was subtle and sweet. New, even. When he turned his back on the photographers trying to blind him with their flashes, he saw a face he had never seen before. A gorgeous round face, amplified by different shades of natural make-up. Centered by the perfect nose and glossiest set of hazel eyes he’d ever seen. Even her silky mane of curls looked stunning.

“Hi,” he said. “How can I help you?”

She looked speechless for a moment, leaving Freddy feeling unsure about how she made it backstage. Normally, if anyone made it backstage, they had to already be established or had some kind of name for themselves. Or they knew someone highly ranked in the circle of dirty politicians who allowed them past security.

“My name is Kalani Salah. I’m an investigative journalist and was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He wasn’t sure who she was or who sent her, but she was interesting enough to get a few answers out of him. “I have a few minutes before I get out of here. What’s up?”

“I’m working on a story about a woman whose body came up in the river a few years ago. She did a lot of community work in this neighborhood, and I’ve run across your name a few times in some of my notes. Apparently, you knew her?”

Freddy’s mind automatically went back to the night of his mother’s murder and the murder of one of Virginia’s top philanthropists. It was an ironic evening all those years ago. He tried his hardest to bury both images somewhere deep in his mind, but every time he turned a corner, they seemed to resurface.

“I know a lot of women,” he said. “Unfortunately, I know a lot of women who have lost their lives. It’s sad to say you would like to refresh my memory.”

Kalani gazed at him like she was trying to read his mind—like she was trying to pick through the bristles he called eyelashes and see what he was thinking. She couldn’t though. Freddy had the poker face of an expert gambler. Just like her father.

“Could we maybe set a day and time for me to come to your office to discuss the details? I don’t really want to give out too much of my story too soon, because there’s still a few holes and dots I need to connect.”

“You ready Freddy?” Mo came back to interrupt. “Who’s this?” she asked, turning toward Kalani.

“This is reporter Kalani Salah. She wants to set up a meeting to discuss a new story she’s working on. Something about a murder.”