Darling Nicki. My third and final character in my first book. In a nutshell, she's Nicholas Harriston's granddaughter and sole heiress to his billions. Nicholas Harriston Senior is the only Black billionaire in the U.S. besides Oprah -- he owns Nicki's Network, a Black music channel and neither he nor his son or Nicki's mom Melinda, have time for Nicholette. Lonely and insecure, she makes her own decisions, and as a result, Nicki winds up so deep in shit, murder, mayhem, lies and destruction, there's no turning back. Keesha actually believes that Nicki is one of her best friends, along with Zarria and Zoey, Brittani and Kenyatta - the 6 girls are known as the Paris Hilton Clique at school. Nicki is so far from being a real friends it's not funny. The Black Paris Hilton as everybody calls her is hanging out with Melvin Carter, Baby D's grimy ass 21 year old uncle. It took me a while to come up with the right condition for Nicki to help me play out my book but after alot of reading and research I found it (shouts out to DaRipper one mo' time). Nicki suffers from narcissistic character disorder, look it up - but it exists and it's all Nicki. Meet the highly intelligent, manic depressant Nicholette Harriston - who adds all the bang and drama you need for a hellaride in this book.



NICKI: White Girl Rich
It's like - - - my world is in this moment. I turn the water on in the sink and pull back my hair with one hand. Carefully, I lean over in anticipation, take the cut straw and breathe in --- smoothly --- daring to snort the two lines of forbidden ecstacy. Woooh shiiiittt!!!!! Oh God, this is the best feeling!!! My nostrils burn a little bit, but when I look in the mirror at myself all I can see is the new me. The rich, confident Nicki.


I take out my MAC compact and delicately powder my tender nose....... my complexion's so dark nobody can tell anyway. I blow myself a kiss, clear away the bathroom counter checking for scratches in the peach colored marble, then experience a rush of quivering excitement as the drug saturates my senses. I blink, twice -- and pure love envelopes me, leaving me strangely alert. As I open the bathroom door into my bedroom, I can't help but notice the tiny little birds outside my terrace window. It's like they're trying extra hard to out sing the ducks; their breasts are all puffed up, showing off from every branch of the Sanford maple tree planted beside our duck pond. The quacking and the chirping also seems to be in rhythm with Zarria's voice.

Sitting at my vanity table in the sunlight, Zarria goes on and on like the lead singer of the feathery frolic, that seems to be hellbent on annoying me. But of course, that's Zarria Pitts. I call her My Morning Torture. I realize I'm just standing here, staring at the birds, while wishing my next door neighbor and friend since birth, would just shut up before she blows my high.



"Okay Zarria," I finally interrupt the choir and sit on my bed.
"I said okay, dang. I have my first period English exam in exactly one hour, and I told you - yes, Derikk and Evergreen look really cute together - for the umpteenth time, damn. Now can you shut up long enough for me to remember what came first by Charles Dickens - Martin Chuzzlewit or American Notes?" I ask her. It's Wednesday, exam day, and I didn't study worth a damn. Zarria shrugs and gives me an insulted look like I had the nerve to ask her anything that doesn't have to do with clothes or boys. She throws up a light beige hand and goes back to brushing her hair.

I swallow and catch the drain of cocaine that just slid down the back of my throat. I look up and Nelly's video is on. His face is big as life on my plasma TV, mouthing to me in silence. Zarria's dingy butt turned the sound down to listen to him on her brand new minipod. I sniff and go back to lacing up my boot. But what really burns me up - - I mean I don't care how high I get I can't shake it - - it consumes me --- Evergreen Ghetto Keesha Bradley has actually managed to get Derikk Carter. Next to Spencer Hopkins, the other boy of my dreams, Derikk Carter is the most popular cute boy in school. And she got him. All day yesterday it was "Derikk and Keesha this", "Derikk and Keesha that" - and I refuse to call that bitch Keesha - that name is so ghetto, I agree with her mother. But she got Derikk. She won. I dreamed of him choosing me when I found out that he broke up with Taleesha Lynn. I can't believe it. I mean dang, I'm tired of this shit. I went for him first, I tried to give him the best blow job in the ATL, but once again a bigger booty prevails.


My fingers begin to tremble in jealous panic. Evergreen has everything. I know she's my best friend - she's the only person I share the love of classical music and writing poetry with - she's fun and she's always there for me ---- but dang. High school. Ever since we've gotten to high school it's been disastrous for me and heaven for her. Derikk just looked at her and chose her. Over Nyla, over Taleesha Lynn?? She's gorgeous. But she's dark skinned, that's why Derikk didn't want her, Zack either. Just like all the rest, they like red girls better. As hard as I tried to get to Zack that didn't work either. And now I can't have Derikk. I'm tired of making mistakes, I keep messing up.
"Get a hold of yourself Nicki," I have to keep telling myself. Maybe one more line'll do the trick. Yeah, knowing that I can at least get high, boosts my self confidence. I straighten my pantleg and stand up. Zarria is eyeing me through the mirror while she sprays on more body spray, but before she can comment, Gloria knocks and calls in.


"You girls have teen minutes," she says and firmly knocks again, causing the locked double doors to rattle against each other.
"Let her in Zarr, before she breaks the shit down," I say to my best friend. I watch with a queasy feeling as Zarria bounces to let Gloria in. Zarria's always bouncy. Why wouldn't she be? I watch her swing both doors open wide, grandly letting my nanny into my room. Zarria's really light skinned, tall and pretty, and her parents are filthy rich and buy her anything she asks for - unlike mine. Mine are filthy rich and don't buy me a damn thing.
I burn inside again, watching Zarria dance around Gloria, who's picking up my clothes off the floor and putting them in the laundry basket, complaining. Zarria's new 300 dollar Minipod is fye - it's lavender and it matches the lavender trim on her DKNY denim jumpsuit - and of course she's rocking grape ice. KandyRoxx is like the Palace Ferry craze right now. If you don't own at least the earrings and the ring in three different colors your parents must not know it's a Pallisade Requisite. My parents don't know.
I wear the same funky diamond earrings everyday. Everyone in my crew dresses better than me. It seems like everybody in high school is dressing more grown up except me. Gloria stands up to leave with the basket full of clothes.

"Miss Nicki, your father want me to tell you he want be back until Sunday. He left airrly thees mornin' for a convenshun in Beverly Hills. He want me to tell you he loves you and..." Gloria stops when I fan her ass away.
"I know. I know," I cut Gloria off in midsentence. "Don't ride Butterscotch, do my homework, and don't forget to take Ebony out for a run at least once and he'll bring me a present. Now could you leave us alone? We're hurrying up and I have to get dressed," I push the Jamaican nannybitch and her basket out into the hallway, slam the double doors shut, and lock them.
"Aaagh, Nicki!!! Oh my God, I can't believe you just did that," Zarria giggles.



I stomp back to my bed and sit down in disgust. Now Homecoming is ruined for me. My credit card is up to the limit and I have nobody to ask for the extra money to buy something new. My daddy always says 'no' when he's out of town. A convention. Yeah right. While Zarria's rappin' along with Missy on her new fucking minipod, I think of Evergreen all in yellow on Monday, and then green yesterday, rockin' gator shoes like a senior. I'm rich. And I'm tired of this shit.



I stand up again, anxious to get into the bathroom. I lock the door, open up my make up bag, and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror through a wave of cocaine and heartache. Who's going to take the time to realize that I'm not 9 years old any more - my mother? Please. She's too busy spending her and my father's money on her new boyfriend. He claims he's a foreign film critic in London. Yeah right. My mother practically lives there now, when she's not here in The States, begging one of my father's colleagues to lift, nip, or tuck something. My parents are like - lame as hell. And let's face it - my mother takes so much Prozac, Zanax, Vodka, and Valium she's never really on Earth anyway. Whatever.
I flush the toilet so Zarria can't hear me, take my pinky nail and scoop a pinch of powder out of the tiny bag, hold my head back and try to catch the full effect. Homecoming..... my mom's not coming back for another week. Oh, and let's not forget my father, Dr. Nicholas Harriston. He's one of the top Black plastic surgeons in the country - he's always out of town with one of his sleezes too. Convention my ass..... my eyes travel down from my face to my chest. Nothing. My dad's a plastic surgeon and I've got the worst body at Palace Ferry.


I snort to catch the drain that comes down on me like this warm water when I turn the faucet on. Washing my hands I'm thinking - I've got to find Melvin tonight before my stash runs out. He'll give me some powder for some free head. I turn the water off feeling better. Planning a late night rendevouz with Melvin gives me something to look forward to. A wave of power washes over me. I can be a whole different person when I sneak out with Melvin. Getting high at 3 o'clock in the morning off X, and cocaine, and weed - riding around in his car giving him head while he shines to his friends Fetti and Ree Rock - hanging out with all of them over ReeRock's baby's mother's house - Yanna Murray is her name and she is so cool, she doesn't care who you are or where you're from and long as you pass the cocaine - and grabbing something to eat from the Waffle House before Melvin drops me back off - - if I'm hungry..... yeah..... lately when I'm with Melvin Carter, it's been the only times that I really have any fun. I pat my nose.

The life of Baby D will touch your soul, I don't care what you do for a living -- if you care anything about the preservance of the soul of a Black Man, this story will touch your heart.

I've got a few fans and each and every one of them said the same thing after reading my series: "Don't kill Baby D! Is he really dead? You can just write another book and act like he's hiding in another country or something. Bring him back to life". They all say the same thing -- and that's how I know I accomplished my goal. To show the real. Yeah folks -- 2Pac is dead. Yes - Baby D is dead. Yes. When you live the gangsta life you die young or go to jail. Stop fantasizing that Scarface is real and that you can win in the dopegame. You can't. I didn't. You won't.

So in light of that --- I spent many nights crying over this character and by the end of the fourth book, I felt like he and I were one - and finally free. I would like to introduce you - Mocha City - to Derikk Montrell Carter aka King Tut, The Youngest Georgia Don and head of the Black Syndicate Table at 19 - and dead by the age of 21. But to Keesha and all who love him, I introduce you to Baby D.






INTRODUCING DERIKK CARTER

..........."What's yo name? I'm pussy pumpa number one.... yeah... I said what's yo name?" I sang along wit T.I. hook, ridin' my new spinnas. Yeah nigga. I nod my head at a spectator thankin' how dem niggaz at school was jockin' my ride yesterday. I love the way these niggaz keep sweatin' my new rims and the gold flakes in my candy paint. I turn the beat up a lil' bit. Yeah ------ here I go. Monday thru Thursday it's the same routine, from the middle of August 'til the end of June. Palace Ferry High School, I trip to myself.... and I'll be graduatin' this year....... I yawn.


It's a mothafuckin' Tuesday mornin', first of the month - the mothafuckin' trap jumpin' fo' True Bank and Ford, all my cousins - and I'm mothafuckin' stuck in uptown traffic at 7 o' clock in the mornin'. Not to mention Fruity bitch ass...... lyin' mothafucka. My Uncle Snap ain't shit and his son ain't neitha. Snap wouldn't have never lied on me like dat tho. I could kill Fruity bitch ass right now, me and Ced argued 'bout dat shit for two hours. I can't believe my brotha Ced want me to wait 'til Fruit get back in town so we can sit down and talk. Ced know damn well Fruit ain't outta no fuckin' town and it shouldn't be nothin' to talk about!!


My oldest brotha get on my nerves some mothafuckin' time - always believin' in family. Well most of our family can kiss my mothafuckin' ass, real talk. Straight out the projects, most of dem mothafuckas don't know how to act no way - always keepin' up shit, can't just get to da bread........... but not me gotdammit, I got plans. Plans on doin' it big for The Carter and makin' my name legendary out here in these streets.


I wanna be the ultimate hustla. Like Frank Lucas 'round dis bitch. This school shit really gets to me sometimes...... all I thank about is money. In my world only money mattas most of the time -- most of our family some dropouts anyway - - but I promised Sunny. I promised her I would never be no dropout.....



Sunny. That's my mama. She died Christmas Eve when I was 11. Man, that was a fucked up year. My mama died, my Uncle Loco went to jail a couple a months befo' dat, and my cousin, Big Mike, he got robbed and killed on New Year's Eve. I had already been to boot camp once and juvenile twice. My mama knew my ass was off the chain back then. I was runnin' around in The Row - that's short for The Carver Homes Projects - but I hung out on the curb by the entrance gates all day selling crack. Sunny would whoop me when she wasn't high - then steal my dope and smoke it up. My brothas would tell me it don't matter who stole my stash - and dat was they mama too -- but they used to tell me I betta find a way to make the bread happen regardless. Rule number three in The Carter --- never come up shawt.


Yeah, Sunny knew how my daddy side of the family was, that's why she married my daddy. She was a heroine addict and a rock smoka so she married into the drugs, she knew what it was. Sunny knew I was gone slang dope regardless too, just like the rest of the males in my family. Yet and still, befo' she died she made me promise - on her death bed too - promise I wouldn't drop out o' school. Teachers had told my mama about my test scores and shit so she was stuck on me growin' up and bein' somebody.... she used to tell me all the time I was different. No matta what I did she would say she knew I would be somebody --- so fo' her I'm tryin'.


Like I told ya - I gotta plan --- it's just that I know deep down, right now, I like sellin' dope, shiiiiit. The hood has its days, like yesterday for one, but a young nigga like me mostly doin' all right fa himself.......... fo' now. In my world shit gets taken from you just like that. I know...... I jump in front of this Pontiac right quick and hit the highway.


My daddy got killed when I was 2 years old. My family say he used to call me 'Oops' cuz him and my mama had split before I was born. My daddy - Cedrikk Carter Senior -- lived in The Wash and came back over there one night to The Row fuckin' wit my mama and got her pregnant wit me. My brothas and my sista told me that our daddy got stabbed by a lady he was messin' wit down in George shootin' dice not too long after that. Yeah - he was a crackhead too. My mama smoked rocks sometimes, but since mostly she was on dat heroine needle, AIDS took her on out. And my brotha Rodrikk, he woulda been 24 this year, he got shot outside the stripclub Fourth o' July last year. The nigga who kilt him, Gary White, he got 5 years, that's it....... wait 'til he get out. Me and my brotha Ced gone do his ass.....

I think about Ced. I look up to my big brotha Cedrikk a lot cuz he's the King of our family and he's got his shit togetha for a young nigga. He taught me everythang I know about the game and the streets. He been talkin' to me like a man from the time I could walk. Yeah.......




See my brotha Ced ended up adoptin' me. He got tired of me runnin' away from different foster homes to sell dope in the hood wit my cousins when my mama died, and nobody else in our fucked up family was fit enough to adopt me. My Grandma Shirley already had all of my Uncle Snap's kids - that's Fruity, Falecia, and Kelly. Plus she had my cousin Grip and his youngest sista Trell, my Uncle Melvin, and my sista - all over at her house to take care of. My Grandmama was smokin' rocks too? You know what that was like. They say when they asked my Grandma Shirley - "What about Poncho and Baby D?" - she acted like she didn't even hear 'em.
So when Ced turned 21, that was 4 and a half years ago, he got full custody o' me. Deep down in my gut, the fact that I know my brotha got his shit togetha and bought two tow trucks, married his girl, and bought a phat house just to look good for the state for me? Makes me wanna succeed. I'll never let Ced down. I'll always have my brotha back.



I finally back into a park beside Lontae Fenton. His daddy play baseball for the Braves. He think his Nova the shit cuz he just got the guts flushed peanut butta and he got them blades. Whatever nigga. These new spinnas I got killin' 'em. I'm gone start tellin' these lame ass niggaz that spot on the end o' dat last row is mine too. They know not to contradict a nigga. Me and Grip got this bitch on lock. See, all these haters know, without me - no good green and no good X. Shiiit, I'm even mo' popular than Grip and he the star basketball playa and shit. But me? I know as soon as 3 o'clock hit, 90 percent of this parkin' lot shoppin' wit my family - for somethin'. I walk up on my cousin Grip.


"Hey man," Greg, the security guard at the entrance to the parking lot, flags us down. "Yo -- your brother Ced came up here D, he told me to give one a ya'll this note, and ya'll on the check-out list too so -- I don't know what's up," Greg hands Grip a slip o' paper.
"Thanks man," Grip hands the note to me. I open it.
"Come home. Both of you already been checked out. Turn on yo phones," I read out loud to Grip. Oh shit. If dat nigga took the time to come out here, check us out of school, and leave a note it's some shit.....


I walk kinda fast over to my car and hit the button and get in. Grip gets in on the otha side. We quiet as hell cause we both know somethin' is up. One of us got robbed, or somebody dead or locked up, that’s usually how it go in our family. I turn on the motor so we can get some air (it's hot inside the car) and then I turn on the phone. I dial Poncho fast as hell. One ring.
"Man, where the fuck you been at man?" Poncho sounds bad. I know the sound. My heart crunches. The smell is in the air as soon as he starts talkin'. In a split second I feel a burnin' sensation, wonderin' who it is this time but not really wantin' to know - - in this instant, an eighth of a second, I try to picture the most horrible and fucked up way whoever it is, one of my homeboys I know, just got took out.....
"Fruity dead man," Poncho say. I breath a sigh of relief before I know it, but at the same time I'm trippin'. I put the car in gear and pull out of the parking lot. If they fucked wit him that mean they fuckin' wit us, so technically I gotta stake in makin' sure whoever it is don't take no mo' of us out. And I know it was Hi Yella bitch ass, or eitha Fetti or Ree Rock. Man!! I HATE dem Dynasty mothafuckas!!!

"Poncho, you aight my nigga?? Fruity dead man," I look over and tell Grip. Damn.
"What?!! Aaww hell naw, man!! What the fuck??! Naw..." Grip is trippin' in the back ground while I press my ear to my cell tryin' to make sure I hear Poncho loud and clear.
"Somebody musta bust up in there early this mornin', cuz dem niggaz who came back and checked it out say Fruity ain' t been to the doe'. Yanna Murray say she seen that nigga serve somebody 'round 7:30 this mornin' when she was coming back from walkin' her kids to the bus stop. Ain't nobody see that doe' open up no mo'. True Bank bust up in there five after twelve and the nigga just fell out the closet mane. True Bank said he ain't even look at the nigga - but it look like his face was blowed off from the angle he glanced at. True Bank knew what it was, he left the door unlocked and just got the hell on - you know he got them warrants. We just got a smoka to go back and now the police all over there. But no dope or no money -- they took it all, the police and True Bank say wasn't shit. They coulda robbed Fruit and beat da nigga ass, they ain't have to kill him man, you know it was The Dynasty," Poncho sounds close to tears.
"Man, hold tight my nigga know what I'm sayin'? We gone find out how that shit went down. They think somebody blowed his face off and robbed him, they got everythang," I relay to Grip.
"Man, fuck!!!" Grip hits the dashboard cryin'.
"I'm 'bout there man witcho girl and Grip's too, if you comin' up Washington we gone pass each otha cuz I'm fenna hit Palace Ferry -- you leavin' school right?" Poncho ask me with his voice shakin'. Awwwww hell, he comin' to meet us and brangin' me one of my pistols means we must be fenna clique up.
"Who ya'll thank it is, the Dynasty, what's up? Ya'll meetin' up about somethin', ya'll know somethin'? Yeah, I'm headed down Washington," I tell Poncho, but I don't really feel like gettin' in no shit over no Fruity I'm a keep it real. Unless it's just unavoidable. I look at Grip cryin'.


Palace Ferry High don't even be seemin' realistic sometimes. I be lookin' at these niggaz here, perpetratin' like they hard and shit. They families be havin' money and shit or tried to raise them right or some shit. They still wanna play in the streets with some starvin' mothafuckas like my Uncle Snap or my Uncle Melvin. My family. Yeah, I like school -- but my true allegiance gotta be to my blood and dat shit kinda depresses me. Deep down I know I'll be there - have to be right there - when the shit pop off. When you got folks like mine you just have a natural tie to these streets and this game. Even if you ain't in it - in my hood they'll putcho ass in it if it's got somethin' to do witcho folks. See, niggaz like me - we just can't let go.


.................... "Nigga -- you know who it was, we all do. We fenna have to pack gats and shoot at niggaz, dat's all there is to it. It's on nah, ain't no turnin' back," Poncho shakes his head at me. I breathe out, a feeling of impending fucking doom takin' over me. I'm tired of dis shit.
"Yeah mane. I know," I just nod back and stare out the window.

The first book in The Carter Series is titled GREEN. This book takes place in the first week of October, when the illustrious Derikk Carter a.k.a. King Tut is 17. Green is the basic introduction to the world of Palace Ferry Georgia, the fictitous man-made suburb of an island where most of this series takes place, so I had to be very descriptive. The main characters in this book are Keesha - 14, Derikk - 17, and Nicki - 15. Keesha narrates first - she thinks she's so grown and Derikk is her first everything. She's a little shallow but that's real for a 14 year old B.A.P. whose hormones are raging. Keesha falls deep into the heart of the dope game without ever realizing it. Just remember how grown you thought you were in high school -- but in reality weren't you so GREEN???


KEESHA:

I make myself comfortable in his candy painted, chromed out, brand new Cadillac while he talks business.... I'm chillin' and just bobbin' my head. Sean P be snappin'. Behind the tinted glass of Derikk's ride feels like another world. Derikk is constantly on the phone but it's all good, I can tell, plus he keeps lookin' at my thighs. I grin as I turn my head towards the window and my mind begins to wander with the high class scenery of Palace Ferry suburbian life. Derikk is heading away from The Moat Bridge though - in the opposite direction, down Washington Road. As we cross over the Palace Lake Bridge, I can see other Islanders, as they call us residents here, dining on the Palace Ferry.


The Palace Ferry is the biggest boat I've ever seen; a lot of older people who live here like to use it to commute back and forth to Meadows, or what we call the mainland. I notice the scenery changing gradually as we drive, getting closer to the lower income areas of the Southside. This is nothing new to me, but I still like to watch everytime I come down this road how the beautiful landscaping and expensive, glass, contemporary structures of Palace Ferry and the Northside, give way to the cracked cement and the crowded, old, brick buildings downtown in The Heights. I love being around the steady hustle and bustle of the hood. I bob my head slowly to the beat and reminisce to that "C. Blaq" remix. Derikk passes me the blunt again and I pull it a lil' harder this time. Hold it. Slowly I exhale and pass it back.


Man, this ride is the shit!! My mama would kill me if she caught me in a car like this with a boy (especially a boy from The Heights) and not in the Nanny Van with my friends like I'm supposed to be. But my mama just wouldn't understand - Derikk is all that. Thank God for athletic and 'On The Right Track' scholarships or there wouldn't be any guys like Derikk or Grip to date at our school. Most of the Palace Ferry boys are either too stuck up, too immature, too nerdy or just down right lame - or fake wanna be thugs or rappers. Derikk is the real thang, hell yeah. Besides, Nicki's Jamaican nanny staring down my throat from that lame ass van while she's waiting for me to have a conversation in the senior parking lot, would have cost me a zillion cool points. Derikk just turned down the music.
"I've gotta go to The Row - I gotta coupla runs to make befo' I drop you off if that's okay witchu," he turns to look at me while I hold my breath. Hell yeah!! God he is so sexy!!!
"Okay," I exhale, still trying hard to play cool just when his phone starts to ring again.....

Derikk passes me the blunt and I hit it, this time I do it slowly like I see my daddy do it, so I won't choke. I'm not worried about my mama catching me tonight because she doesn't get home until 8 on Mondays. I recline my seat to the beat of the music letting the wood take affect so I can chill. I can't be acting like no lil' girl. I'm in high school now....

Derikk slows up after we pass the projects and stops at the light. I watch him, he dials the phone real quick...
"Hey - whatchu say nah? For the whole thang?...... Can't do her no mo' ---- you know what I'm talkin' 'bout nigga, come up.... yeah - that's the one......" he tells somebody. I'll be glad when he gets off of the phone.....I'm high.........
"I don't understand your infatuation with lowlifes Evergreen but if you're going to date one - that's the one," Nicki had said right before second period about Derikk.

"I'll be right back aight?" Derikk looks at me, high as hell, and smiles. He leaves the car running, grabs his backpack, jumps out, and runs into the house. Damn, he is so fine....... I look around. My Daddy would kill me if he knew I was over here, all the way down Huggins Avenue. This street is like - one big ass dope trap. Everybody from around here knows that. My punishment would probably never end, I think uneasily..... but I'm with Derikk, I console myself.


I'm deep in The Heights, I look around again and check my watch - 3:50.... I watch for Derikk to run back out the door of the unfamiliar house....... I stare at the hedges growin' all wild in front of the barred windows..... Derikk is probably selling dope right now, I'm not stupid -- OH! I can use this time to call my mama at work, I remember. I grab my phone, still watching for Derikk and dial my mama's number.

The Carter is a 4 book series that took me 10 years to write. It covers an actual account of the rise and fall of the notorious, teenage drug dealer, King Tut. This young, charismatic, Georgia dopeboy, carefully and diabolically organized the family business that was passed down to him, into a criminal alliance that would end up controlling eighty percent of the drug traffic in four Southeastern states before it's demise. This series takes place over a period of four years in which the most infamous and youngest King of the Carter Family, ruled and terrorized the streets of Meadows, Georgia.
Derikk Carter aka Baby D, was known all over The Dirty South, to the DEA, and the Mexican and Canadian border cartels. He earned the moniker of the "Boy King", or "King Tut", when he took charge of his drug related family and revolutionized the Southern dope game at the very young age of 17.
The Carter series outlines Derikk's rise from a juvenile delinquent adopted by his older brotha to save him from the system, to a Druglord by the age of 19. Derikk also rises to the powerful position of Georgia Don, the head distributor of tons of product for the elite African American Drug Organization known as the Black Syndicate Table, before his untimely death at the age of 21. Derikk lived rich and fast, and he died young - so it's no surprise that the four years the extraordinary King Tut reigned supreme in the streets of The Dirty, were drama packed and filled with the essence of the ultimate thug -- blingin', killin', wheelin' and dealin', romancin' the beautiful bitches, and trillin' for every dollar. King Tut was a cunning, passionate, diabolically clever, and methodical gangsta, whose criminal organization will go down in the largest Federal drug conspiracy, traffic, and murder for hire case in our nation's history.
The Carter Series is just as crude, raw, alluring, magnetic, passionate, exciting, gutta, unbelievably real, violent, criminal, and sexual as the characters depicted in this documentation of their lives. Narrated by the actual participants, these are the chronicals of the events that led to the execution style murder of the youngest and most legendary cocaine trafficker and Drug Kingpin in the United States. These are the lifes and times, loves and pains of Derikk "Baby D" Carter.