Hollywood Station by Joseph Wambaugh

that. So the cops could kick your door down without a search warrant. But you're lucky. You live in my house. They need a search warrant to come in here."
    "I'm real lucky," Olive agreed. "You know so much about the law and everything." She grinned at him and he thought, Kee-rist, those fucking teeth!
    Olive thought it was nice when she and Farley were at home like this, working in front of the TV. Really nice when Farley wasn't all paranoid from the tweak, thinking the FBI and the CIA were coming down the chimney. A couple times when he'd hallucinated, Olive really got scared. They'd had a long talk then about how much to smoke and when they should do it. But lately she thought that Farley was breaking his own rules when she wasn't looking. She thought he was into that ice a whole lot more than she was.
    "We got quite a few credit-card numbers," he said. "Lots of SS numbers and driver's license info and plenty of checks. We can trade for some serious glass when we take this stuff to Sam."
    "Any cash, Farley?"
    "Ten bucks in a card addressed to `my darling grandchild.' What kinda cheap asshole only gives ten bucks to a grandchild? Where's the fucking family values?"
    "That's all?"
    "One other birthday card, `to Linda from Uncle Pete.' Twenty bucks." He looked up at Olive and added, "Uncle Pete's probably a pedophile, and Linda's probably his neighbor's ten-year-old. Hollywood's full of freaks. Someday I'm getting outta here."
    "I better check on the money," Olive said.
    "Yeah, don't cook it to death," Farley said, thinking that the saltine was making him sick. Maybe he should try some vegetable soup if there was a can left.
    The money was in the tub that Farley had placed on the screened back porch. Eighteen five-dollar bills were soaking in Easy-Off, almost bleached clean. Olive used a wooden spoon to poke a few of them or flip them over to look at the other side. She hoped this would work better than the last time they tried passing bogus money.
    That time Olive almost got arrested, and it scared her to even think about that day two months ago when Farley told her to buy a certain light green bonded paper at Office Depot. And then they took it to Sam, the guy who rented them his car from time to time, and Sam worked for two days cutting the paper and printing twenty-dollar bills on his very expensive laser printer. After Sam was satisfied, he told Olive to spray the stack of bogus twenties with laundry starch and let them dry thoroughly. Olive did it, and when she and Farley checked the bills, he thought they were perfect.
    They stayed away from the stores like the mini-market chains that have the pen they run over large bills. Farley wasn't sure if they'd bother with twenties, but he was afraid to take a chance. A mini-market clerk had told Farley that if the clerk sees brown under the pen, it's good; black or no color is bad. Or something like that. So they'd gone to a Target store on that day two months ago to try out the bogus money.
    In front of the store was a buff young guy with a mullet passing out gay pride leaflets for a parade that was being organized the following weekend. The guy wore a tight yellow T-shirt with purple letters across the front that said "Queer Pervert."
    He'd offered a handbill to Farley, who pointed at the words on the T-shirt and said to Olive, "That's redundant."
    The guy flexed his deltoids and pecs, saying to Farley, "And it could say `Kick Boxer' too. Want a demonstration?"
    "Don't come near me!" Farley cried. "Olive, you're a witness!"
    "What's redundant, Farley?" Olive asked, but he said, "Just get the fuck inside the store."
    Olive could see that Farley was in a bad mood then, and when they were entering, they were partially blocked by six women and girls completely covered in chadors and burkas, two of them talking on cells and two others raising their veils to drink from large Starbucks cups.
    Farley brushed past them, saying, "Why don't you take those Halloween rags back to Western