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Everyone groans, and he bangs the gavel again.
“We know this happens every summer. You get too rowdy, vacationers cause a fuss, and before you know it, the troopers drop in. It’s rarely ever the same ones twice, because, let’s face it, you run them off real good. But remember the rules: don’t be seen, and don’t get caught doing anything illegal. Make them go away without alerting them to the way our town works. Otherwise, we’ll never get rid of them, and no one wants that.”
He clears his throat. Considering he’s the local pot distributor, he’s always worried about trooper season.
Don’t judge. You know by now we aren’t conventional.
None of the locals like troopers. It interferes with our not-always-lawful way of life. In Tomahawk, you make money the best way you can. We do things a little under the government’s radar. Nothing harder than pot allowed in town. Business licenses are iffy at best. And you might find a few unlicensed moonshine distilleries up and down the lake too.
Though it’s legal to have pot in Washington…I’m almost positive it’s not legal to grow it. And we don’t exactly have dispensaries where taxes get a big cut. We have Vick.
Troopers make life hard for about a week. Two weeks has been the record.
“Who wants to start the pool?” Eric Malone asks.
“Two days!” someone shouts.
“One week,” I say, waving a ten in the air.
“You can arrange the pool via internet. Not in here,” Vick interrupts, and I lower my ten as Benson grins.
“Now onto the matter of the Vincents.”
His eyes cut toward us, and Benson stiffens.
Hale stands, smoothing his hair back as he flashes a smile at us. His gaze returns to Vick.
“You sure you want to do this?” Vick asks.
“He does have a water cannon,” Killian says as he stands next to Hale.
Benson goes stiffer, and I bounce in my seat with excitement.
“Benson Nolans,” Vick starts, looking around at everyone else, “has apparently gone wild.”
Wolf howls erupt around the room, and Benson mutters a curse under his breath. He’s now officially among the Wild Ones, which means he’ll be getting hit with paintballs, and various other things.
“Instead of building a fifth corner amendment, he’s joining the Vincents, since he and Lilah will be getting married.”
Hey!
“We actually haven’t decided on that yet,” I interject.
“You’ll be getting married,” Vick says dismissively.
“That’s going to make their side bigger,” someone points out—I think it’s Lenny Nickel.
“We’re the smallest corner,” Hale says dismissively.
“Because we’re the youngest addition,” Killian adds, “we have room to grow.”
“But the Vincents sprout in multiples,” Kylie Malone says, winking over at me as I roll my eyes.
She knows I fear this.
“God help us all when they procreate,” someone in the back says—not a Wild One.
“It’s already done. Benson will become a Vincent when he marries Lilah—”
“I’m sorry, but what?” Benson asks, his eyebrows going up as I giggle to myself.
“You’ll become a Vincent,” Vick repeats. “You’ll have to change your name. You know we can’t have other names in the four corners. It’ll confuse things.”
“We’re simple people,” I drawl, grinning as Benson narrows his eyes down at me.
“Benson will become a Vincent, and be an addition to the dead chipmunk corner,” Vick declares with finality.
“Apparently I don’t get a say in this,” Benson mutters.
“Just remember you love Tomahawk because of all the crazy,” I say, patting his hand.
He tosses his arm around me as I lean into his side.
Vick points his gavel at Benson. “Install a flag immediately. You’re officially a Wild One.”
And that’s our story.
We’re a crazy, somewhat bizarre, certainly wacky town that makes life work and lives it to the fullest.
We’re fierce.
We’re loyal.
We’re occasionally destructive.
We’re undoubtedly wild.
Because we’re the Wild Ones.
And we’re just getting started.
The End
