Counterfeit Lies

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The music was loud, almost deafening. It was enough to make an audiologist cringe, but then again loud enough to make him rich when these same young people sought hearing devices in a few years.

In the 1990s the rave parties were reserved for abandoned warehouses with word-of-mouth advertising, makeshift lighting, and boom boxes. The police fought hard to shut them down for a variety of reasons, mainly the guaranteed drug usage. Overdoses were as common as heartburn after eating at a skid-row restaurant advertising “Mom’s Home Cooking.” Now the parties were mainstreamed, with professional promoters using social media to draw more than ninety thousand fans to venues such as the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum.

Sophisticated sound systems, laser light shows, and fog machines were the norm, with some clubs featuring top-name entertainers. The day of the week didn’t matter. Weekends or weekdays saw crowds lining the streets to get in. The drugs were still common: ecstasy, crystal meth, K-water. All that and more, easy to obtain with just a nod, a smile, and the exchange of a few “Jacksons.” Oddly enough, the petit dealers at these events preferred twenties to hundred-dollar bills. Even street thugs, pimps, and hookers know “Benjamins” are the most common counterfeits.

Jenny, H. Daniel Reid’s pregnant paramour, loved the party scene. She was a regular at big-name clubs in and around downtown Los Angeles. Tonight she was at her favorite nightspot, planning to waste just a little more of her life. The atmosphere and the drugs were intoxicating, a welcome relief from the self-loathing she felt — and the tears she occasionally shed.

As Jenny waded into the mob, she spied Candy and waved frantically, trying to get her friend’s attention. Through the noisy crowd and the flashing lights Candy caught a glimpse of Jenny’s manufactured commotion. She and Tommy danced toward her, elbowing their way through the drug-induced throng.