No street gang alive could match the
Shriners. They had guts beyond measure. They smoked their hash pipes
openly and with class and a man bold enough to pull off a fez could
do anything. Men quivered at the thought of a Shriner drive-by,
dozens of tiny cars cruising down the avenue, each packing a strapped
geriatric. When something went down, the Shriners shot first, and
when things went south, while other gangs had to rely on back alley
surgeons, the Shriners would simply roll into their well-stocked and
staffed hospitals, get patched up, and then hit their enemies back
while they were still recovering. So when the West Side Vice Lords
woke to find Bob Dobbs emblazoned on their door, they know their time
ruling the projects had come to an end. This was Shriner territory
now.
- Originally mailed to H. Longino of Gulfport, Mississippi
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