This is an exclusive excerpt from Home of the Bodybags 2 by author Terrell C. Wright a.k.a. Loko (foreword by Hansel Boyd).
“This amazing follow-up of the first book is absolutely action-packed. Those of you who have read Home Of The Body Bags will love Part 2. New readers will be beside themselves. Terrell C. Wright takes the reader on a ride in which each reader is riding shotgun; eyewitness to events as if you were there. Must read.”
Leading our military efforts were my big homies Thunder, Big Jimbo, Stoney, Lil Krazy and Kay Ray and Ratt. With a vast number of YG foot soldiers, our battlefronts were maintained and with many home front victories. Crip factions started to click up and combine their armies together in their attempt to thwart our offensives. The Harlem Crips could be found with the 60s on the west, and on the deep west side, the Harlem Crips could be found milling with the Venice Shore Line Crips. Recon teams had reported that the Harlems and the Sho’ Lines had been hanging out real tuff on the coastline at the renowned world famous Venice Beach, so we decided to invade the Sho’ Line territory with thehopes that we would be able to get at the Harlems. Scores of Neighborhood Bloods packed and manned several stolen vehicles and headed for a showdown at Muscle Beach.
Once there, it didn’t take us long to make contact with the opposing armies. As soon as we were spotted by the rivals, who were equal in numbers to our combat troops, the battle lines were drawn and gangsters from both sides threw themselves into full-pitched battle. We were able to handle the joint efforts of the Harlems and the Sho’ Lines, and the large-scale gang fight between us was one that could be best described as something wild with no rules of engagement.
As the fight was in full swing, the arrival of the police from LAPD’s Pacific Division stormed us, scoring many arrests as gangsters from both sides went to jail that day. All across the west side of Los Angeles the Neighborhood Bloods were waging personal war against our immediate and not-so-close rivals as we collided with the Hoover Crips, the Rollin 60s, the Eight Tray Gangsters, the 52 Broadway Gangsters, and even with the Four Trays Gangsters on the eastside. The war path was blazing with intensity.
As the gang drama was reaching its apex during the 1980s, I was there building my “peel your cap” reputation, and pretty soon I would earn my first stripes as a true gunner. “Get on my level, you can’t get on my level, you gonna need a space shuttle or a ladder that’s forever” – Lil Wayne (1982 – ) The summer war campaigns had hardened my heart and stripped my compassion for humanity. I had officially transitioned from innocent boy to ruthless teenager in every action and gesture I performed. By now, I had a reputation to up-hold as homies and enemies alike all viewed me with a larger-than-life image. Our headquarters moved over to Adams Boulevard and Raymond Avenue, where the enemy would launch countless incursions against us, and in turn we retaliated with our own revenge missionsHome of the Body Bags 2 by Terrell C. Wright
As war between the 20s Bloods and the 30s Crips intensified, we found ourselves always paranoid, taking extra precautions. Every passing car was scrutinized with deadly stares to the degree of almost being blasted on at sight. Due to these hazardous times, I always kept a pistol tucked inside my waistline, ready for the unexpected drama that I knew could arise spontaneously. On one particular weekend after a successful military expedition into enemy-controlled turf, we all posted up on Raymond Avenue, manning the south and north points of entrance onto the block. Raymond Avenue was perfect for camouflage. The tree cover filled the street with silhouettes and pregnant shadows which easily concealed our movements. I was packing that night, and after growing tired of waiting on the enemy’s retaliatory strike against us, I finally went inside my girl Yvette’s (Big Peebles) house to blow some weed with her and her mother. After eye-fucking our perimeter and a few short words with my homeboy Dipps, I handed him my pistol and then vanished inside.
To grab a copy of this work by Terrell C. Wright a.k.a. Loko, click here.