KATRINA CARTER grew up in a single parent household in the hood. And like so many other young children there, she was exposed to the street life at an early age. Her mother was a barfly, a party animal. Oftentimes, Nicky left Kat and her older sister Jackie home alone while she went out. Her children came to her more like a big sister than a mother. They basically grew up at their grandmother’s house anyway. A female might have birthed Kat, but it was clear the streets raised her. Her mother spent too much time in after-hour spots, speakeasies, clubs and hustlers’ beds, to rightfully tend to them. And when that played out, she began to strip.

“The world ain’t no place fa an old ho!” Nicky often said. “So if you gonna be a ho, be a good one. Make ya money while ya still young. Get paid! And hopefully if ya lucky, you’ll marry a nigga wit some damn money. Don’t marry no broke nigga, then come back ’round here lookin’ fa a handout. ’Cause I ain’t got nuttin’ fa ya. Ya hear me … I’m serious! Once y’all get eighteen, y’all on ya own. So ya betta marry fa money. You can always learn ta love ’em later … If ya gonna fuck, don’t fuck fa free … These men will use you, till they can’t use you no more. Talk about you, then throw you away like yesterday’s newspaper …”

“I dare you ta break dat window,” Kat’s friend Tom urged. He was eleven years old, just like her.

“You dare me?” Kat repeated.

“I double-dare you,” Toni said, raising the stakes.

Feeding into her friend’s suggestion, Kat picked up a brick and hurled it into a neighbor’s living room window. She was identified and caught minutes later.

“… Why da hell did you break that old lady’s window?” her mother demanded to know. “She ain’t neva done nuttin’ ta you. So what made you do dat?”

“Umm, Toni told me ta do it,” she said.

“Toni told you ta do it, huh? Well you can thank Toni fa dis ass whuppin’ you ’bout ta get. Afta I’m finished tearin’ ya ass up, you’ll neva listen to her or anybody else again! Now, hurry up and take off those clothes. I’ma cut dat ass …”

With that, Ms. Carter proceeded to make good on her promise. She beat the living daylights out of her daughter. When she did stop, it was because she had somewhere to go. From that day on, Kat knew to lead, not follow. Over and over again Nicky Carter told her, “If ya gonna be an Indian, be a chief!”

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER
5

FRIDAY NIGHTS WERE JUMPING at the Bottoms Up club. Any stripper in her right mind would be there on the weekend. This was when the “real” money was made, when the players came out to play.