As legalization looms, the business of cannabusiness in Monterey County runs for professionalism.

Bill Uretsky stands in the hallway of a law firm in South Salinas and surveys the crowd. The smell of carne asada and onions frying on a catering cart in a back corner wafts through the air. Beer bottles clink. So many bodies are crammed into the small space that he struggles to keep everyone’s attention over the ambient noise.

“How many of you,” he asks, “are delivering marijuana in your cars?”

Nervous glances shoot around. After a few seconds, about eight hands go up.

“You know, if a cop smells it, he’s not going to need a warrant,” Uretsky says, “and if I were that cop, I would asset forfeiture the money, the dope and the car.”

A tall white guy – he looks like a Silicon Valley tech bro in a blue-checked dress shirt – yells out, “’Murica! I thought we were free here!” and the crowd roars. “Can you please stop calling it dope?” someone else asks.

It’s not the first time Uretsky, a former Carmel Police officer with 25 years in law enforcement, has called it dope. “It’s not dope,” the bystander continues. “It’s medicine.” The crowd laughs even louder.

Uretsky smiles somewhat apologetically. He’s here to help, but old habits are hard to break.

“When I was a cop in the ’70s, we called it dope,” he says. “Back then, one joint was a felony and you would go to prison for it.”

About 75 members – or wannabe members – of the local cannabis industry have gathered on the evening of March 11 at the law office of L+G to eat tacos, drink beer and wine (or for some, Pepsi and 7-Up) and hear Uretsky, founder of Del Rey Oaks-based Uretsky Security & Investigations, talk about how to secure a business that involves drugs and cash.

The crowd runs the gamut: 20something white guys wearing kicks and ballcaps tilted at angles; young Latinos dressed to impress in khakis and dress shirts; businessmen in Monterey County casual (jackets and jeans) already successful in real estate and other industries. There’s also a group of men and women in their 60s and 70s who run a thriving buyer’s club on the Peninsula.

The taco cart, the security advice, the beer, the shmoozing – it’s all part of the bigger picture. Start getting your legal ducks in a row now for likely legalization of cannabis not too much later, in 2016, when one of two possible ballot measures is likely to make it before California voters. (See story, p. 28.)

“In Monterey County, we have the terroir,” says Aaron Johnson, who runs L+G’s cannabusiness practice. It’s a reference to environmental conditions that combine to make optimal growing for everything from grapes to marijuana.

“We should be the cultivation center of California.”

The ground rule for my invitation to the invite-only meeting is this: Please don’t take any pictures.

That’s it. If people want to talk to me, they talk. If they don’t, they don’t. Everyone wears a name tag with first names only; one woman’s name reads, “Oh Hell No.” No surprise – she’s not interested in chatting.

But others are. Devon and Maggie, a couple who moved to Santa Cruz from Colorado last fall, want to open a business that uses C02 extraction (as opposed to less environmentally friendly butane extraction) to manufacture high-CBD (cannabidiol) products for use in treatment of cancer and seizure disorders. They’re looking to Monterey County for possible manufacturing space.

The men and women of the Peninsula-based buyers’ club are looking for legalization – or a change in zoning code to operate in the light. The group isn’t exactly underground, but then again, they’re not exactly above ground either.

“One local council person told me, ‘Just keep doing what you’re doing, and keep it quiet,’” says Cheri, a club organizer with twinkly blue eyes and gray hair pulled back in a bun. “But it’s time to wake up to the fact this is going to be legal. We want regulation. The stricter and tighter, the better. I think local cities have dropped the ball on this.”

The hallway and two small conference rooms buzz for nearly three hours, the activity going long after Uretsky’s talk about security – “It should be the first thing you think about, not the last thing,” he admonishes the crowd – ends.

It’s not clear if he’s drummed up any business from his talk. He tells me he’s only interested in working with operations that want to comply with the law. With talk of the need for standard operating procedures, background checks and anti-theft measures, some attendees appear worried and others appear defiant. Some tell Uretsky they already operate on a sophisticated level.

One attendee stops to tell me that major players in the cannabis industry are sussing out Monterey County to see what’s possible.

“Not that it should be all fields of green, but it can be a huge opportunity for us,” he says. “That’s informed by the degree of sophistication we have here with the agriculture industry.”