Negotiations

I sat at the bar staring at the scratchcard in my hand. It had been a while since anyone had come to me with a paying job, I was down to my last $50. Enough to keep the drinks flowing for an afternoon at the dirtiest drinking hole I knew and this $2 scratchcard. The odds were not great but it’s not like I had anything left to lose. I could smell his aftershave before I could hear him, he strode up to me like he owned the place.

‘Ma’am, you need to come with me.’

Typical but I’ll pass; I mean yes, a handsome man in uniform walking into a crowded bar and sweeping me off my feet is one of the top fantasies on my bucket list, but I expect a little more creativity than just demanding, a little je ne sais quoi.

‘Ma’am?’

‘That’s a bit demanding’

‘Ma’am, can you please come with me?’

I turned on my barstool and gave him my cheekiest smile. ‘Look… Sailor, I can’t just switch it on and off like a light switch, a girl needs a little work you know.’ I threw back the last of my drink.

‘Ma’am, I’m not a sailor.’ Well, that explained the lack of a uniform, I signalled for the bartender. ‘If you won’t come with me willingly, I will be forced to arrest you and escort you out of here in handcuffs.’

‘Handcuffs hey? Now we’re talking!’ The bartender put down my drink, scotch on the rocks. ‘Sit with me. We can talk here. Want a drink?’

‘I’m on duty ma’am.’ he pulled out the barstool next to me and sat slumped.

‘Cheer up sailor I’ll go with you, after happy hour.’ Or when I damn well felt like it.

‘Happy hour only applies to beer.’ chimed the bartender, I waved him off.

‘Every time I have a drink in my hand it’s happy hour, something has to wash away the desperate smell of poor off me.’ I drained my drink again and signalled for another. I’d been stuck doing community service for the past week all because of a few DUI charges. I turned back to face the sailor; he had pulled out a little black book. I could tell it was still new, the edges were still tight, the paper was still crisp, yet it was half used. He saw me looking with interest, the bartender refilled my drink drawing my attention briefly. When I looked again the notebook was gone. ‘So, what's the dilemma today? Hostage negotiations, terrorists, a birthday present for the prime minister?’

‘They told me you would be a smart arse, but I do take my job seriously.’

‘My arse isn’t so smart, my brain is where everyone else’s is, in my head. My arse is mostly fat, and muscle, but mostly fat.’ I took a sip of my drink.

‘I can’t believe we pay you.’ He put his head in his hands.

‘Neither can I.’ I flashed him a quick smile, it’s a good thing they all get distracted by my beauty. If we were relying on my brains we would be screwed!

‘Is that because your brains are in your arse?’ he lifted his head to smirk at me.

‘We have been over this already, it’s fat in my arse, brain in my head. Unlike yours which is clearly in your left testicle. How much liquor do I need for this?’ I shot quickly.

‘No ransom, 2 hostages, with a bonus of bomb threat. I was told you have the highest success rate in dealing with negotiations.’

‘Ah well that’s where you are wrong, I don’t negotiate. Anyone can deliver a convincing argument if they try. I can convince you that bringing me in to negotiate with anyone is a terrible idea and you will leave knowing you have done the right thing by me, yourself, and your country.’ I gave him a small toast with my drink before i took another sip.

‘I am a highly trained officer, I have withstood interrogations from enemy government agencies, criminal organisations, and worst of all my ex-wife. What makes you think that anything you say will make me deviate from what I was ordered here to do?’

‘I’m drunk.’

‘I’ll go tell them to find someone else.’ He got off the bar stool immediately and headed for the door.

I straightened myself at the bar, sipped my drink and scratched the final square on the scratchcard. All I needed was to match three of a kind to win the $20,000 prize. I gave out a nervous giggle, there it was, maybe my luck was turning. I threw down the last of my money, tucked the winning scratchcard into my bra and ran to the door to catch the sailor.