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And what do musicals have to do with anything?
“The chicks will totally dig it,” says the balding Wilder, shrugging a shoulder, even as Kai Wilder continues to shave his head one long, deadly swipe at a time.
“I fail to see how this is a wise thing to—”
Those words are cut off by something that sounds too damn much like a real grizzly bear, as one of the other Nickel brothers opens his mouth like he’s roaring. Because he is roaring. That bear sound just came from him.
The guy talking ends his words on a squeal, and both Nickel brothers break into hysterics.
“Damn Wild Ones,” Vick grumbles too close to the microphone, pinching the bridge of his nose. Without looking, he adds, “Fine. Who here wants to river dance every weekend—”
“And Holiday,” Bill interjects, holding up a finger as he interrupts Vick.
I’m sorry…river dance?! What the hell?
Vick takes a calming breath before gritting his teeth and continuing. “Every weekend and holiday, whenever they hear Lindsey Stirling playing over the town speakers, who wishes to vote that all men must river dance?”
“Why does it have to be a female violinist?” a peculiar looking short fellow asks from the front. “I play violin too.”
“She has more talent in her pinky nail than you do in your entire body,” Bill says dismissively. “Only the best for our women,” he adds.
“Agreed,” George Malone says from the other side of Benson.
“Just vote,” Vick grumbles.
Bill’s hand raises. Several other hands go in the air.
My hand lifts reluctantly, because I can’t fucking river dance. This is not why I signed on. Did someone miss the part where I’m just a nosy observer?
Bill starts counting hands anxiously, and Chester is counting as well, their voices and counting out of sync and tumbling over each other.
“It’s a tie, so it doesn’t count!” Chester shouts, at the same time Bill shouts, “We win by two! River Dance Challenge accepted!”
Then the two turn and glare at each other, both arguing the other one can’t count, and then take education-quality jabs.
I sometimes wonder what normal people are doing in their lives now that I’ve moved to Tomahawk, land of the crazy people who think only four families are crazy.
Vick mutters a curse and starts counting hands, and finally says, “Majority vote by one.”
Chester is an angry guy, I realize, when he turns his scowl on me.
“Consequences,” Bill happily states, causing a melody of groans to emerge. “If you’re in town when the music plays, and you don’t river dance, you have to swim across the lake in a tutu while singing Girls Just Want To Have Fun.”
“That’s to keep Chester from breaking it. He’d never sing or wear a tutu,” Benson tells me when I give him a quizzical look. “This one will last another decade.”
His words are followed by another groan as he shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“That’s still breaking the consequence rule. He had the lake the last time,” Chester argues.
“I added a tutu and a song,” Bill defends.
“It’s different enough,” Vick states dismissively.
Chester’s angry glare returns to me.
“No matter. Eventually the city slicker will be done with the Malone girl the second one of those apes breaks his nose, and he’ll go back home where he belongs. Then we can veto his vote. That will end the challenge without consequence,” Chester states dismissively.
“You saying you want my girl’s heart broken?” George Malone snaps before I can point out that I’m not going anywhere.
“I’m saying he won’t stick around. Just like that fancy ex-wife of yours!”
With a Tarzan battle cry, George Malone—the hulking beast of a man—propels himself over a row of chairs, running right at the older guy. One of the younger guys jumps up, taking the brunt of his tackle.
I slip out when the entire room starts pulling them apart, only to notice Hale sucker punch Kai Wilder, who kicks a leg out so fast Hale can’t stop it. His foot nails Hale in the balls, and Hale drops to the ground, while Kai finishes up his brother’s newly bald head at last and calmly puts the machete away.
“Stop fighting, you morons! The damn troopers are here, and I will arrest you both again!” Vick threatens. “Don’t make me do it. I’m going to count to three!”
Chester stumbles backwards, wringing his hand out after hitting the solid mass that is George Malone.
“One!”
George shoves off one of Chester’s twenty-year-old bodyguards.
“Two! Don’t you make me keep counting! I’ll do it!”
The other Malones wrangle George back, being the only ones capable of doing so, as they remind him he hates the town cell. Just one cell. The other person will have to be confined to the public restroom. I read this in the “newly revised” pamphlet they gave us at the beginning of the meeting.
“Damn it, three!”
Vick goes stalking toward them with handcuffs out, and a squirt-bottle of water, spritzing them both in the face as they cough and curse.
