The Negotiation

The Negotiation is a story about a very rare, a once in a thousand lifetimes negotiation.



A sharply dressed man stands in an elegant hotel room as he puts on the finishing touches to his outfit of white. There is no detail too small when it comes to his appearance as evident by his meticulous method for parting his hair which involves a ruler, tweezers and the process of moving one hair at a time from the wrong side of the part back to its rightful place.

"We can't all be on the same side, now can we?", he asks his rogue hairs as if he actually expects an answer.

Near the end of this ritual, a woman of all shape and little else exits the bathroom in a stunning pale blue dress that clings to her as if its very existence depends on it. There is little behind her beautiful blue eyes which aimlessly search the room until they happen upon the digital clock on the bedside.

"We're going to be late", she says as if she's uttered those very words a thousand times before.

The man, immune from more than her comments, moves another piece of hair across the divide that so aptly separates the hair on the left of his crown from the hair on the right. An intense study of the slender piece of exposed scalp produces a look of satisfaction on the man's otherwise intense face.

"We -- are not going to be late." These words bounce off of the hard walls of the large room leaving an unpleasant ringing in the woman's ears that, despite their familiarity, she cannot ignore.

"I thought this was your big day?" Her tone is an amalgam of apathy and annoyance, a feat that would be all but impossible for most people.

He freezes in an artificial pose for just a moment and then turns just his head over his shoulders.

"This opportunity comes along once in a thousand lifetimes."

The weight of this somehow dissipates in the short distance between his lips and her ears soliciting nothing more than mere empty eye blinks from their intended target as a defiant response to the intensity of his stare, which is rivaled only by the unfortunate souls who die with their eyes in a permanent gaze.

After a moment of neither party giving up an inch of ground, the man whips around and in a single fluid movement, that comes only with practice, puts on his jacket, grabs his briefcase and keys, and heads for the door.

With a prolonged blink, she turns her head toward the door catching only the sound of it slamming shut. Alone in a hell no one deserves but sometimes gets when one fails to pay attention to the laws of the universe, she contemplates her options and after finding none, grabs her purse and leaves the room with an energy that is in stark contrast to the man's.

As the door slowly and quietly shuts behind her, the room darkens and is cast in the red glow of the burning sun's dying moments that mark the end of another day in paradise.

_____

The red glow of the sun in its accelerated advance towards its inevitable end is quickly replaced by the consuming darkness of the night.

The dead of the night reigns until it is disturbed by a streaks of red from the tail-lights of a stretch limo.

In the limo, the man sits silently stroking the briefcase which lies in his lap.

"I could have asked any of a thousand women to be with me.". He pauses emphatically.

"I picked you... Don't make me sorry I did."

And with that, the woman's indignation is diffused. "You're right... I'm sorry." Her reach to place her hand on his is truncated by an abrupt scolding comment.

"After! We will celebrate, after."

Her disappointment is palpable as she slowly draws back her hand.

"Today is our respite. Tomorrow's normalcy will be marked with a sadness of what once was or with a fondness for a break in the monotonic punishment of our world. Pick your poison."

They both sit quietly contemplating the gravity and truth of those words for the remainder of the long ride through the cold night.

_____

The huddled bodies of the homeless are strewn in the doorways of the closed shops along an otherwise quiet section of the business district of town. The only sign of life from these poor unfortunate souls is the occasional puff of stream from their shallow and labored breathes.

The din of their silence survival is interrupted by the sound of a white limo and the high pitched squeal it makes as its brakes slow down the mechanical beast to a stop directly in front of a small restaurant that is squeezed between three large and formidable office buildings; one on either side and one in the back.

The man in the limo looks out the window at the two men in black that stand guard at the restaurant's entrance as they cruelly turn away a couple whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Will they let us in?", the shapely lady asks with a slight tremor in her voice.

"They won't... However, they will let me in." And with the boldness of his words, the man exists the limo, slams the door and walks, briefcase swinging confidently by his side, toward the entrance.

At the entrance, the two men in black give the man the once over -- multiple times.

"I'm --."

"We know who you are."

They continue to stand their ground blocking his way while they continue looking him over as if they've never seen anyone like him.

"I --."

One of the men raises his finger and opens his mouth with an abbreviated utterance to quiet the man. He continues holding it up to prolong the moment as he relishes the power he has over this intruder. Eventually, he slowly lowers his hand and the two men part allowing the fastidious man to freely enter.

_____

Inside the restaurant, there is a lone table bathed in the glimmer of dozens of candles. The staff move about like the wind whose presences is felt but never seen.

As the man whose swagger has abandoned him approaches the table with trepidation, he sees the silhouette of what appears to be a man dressed all in black. His initial assessment is confirmed when a member of the staff whisks in only long enough to light the candles on the table before departing leaving the two men alone.

The man in black silently gestures to the awaiting empty chair which pales in grandeur to the high-backed one he comfortably resides. When the man sits, he finds himself in a geographically undesirable position, one that finds him looking up at his host.

To minimize the disparity, he sits atop his briefcase. His host fills the man's glass from a bottle.

"Nectar of the gods."

The host raises his glass.

"To long standing relationships."

The man raises his glass and amends the toast.

"And the balance of power."

The man quickly drinks to the amended toast leaving his host to contemplate the ramifications of the appendage. The host eventually drinks after waiting a sufficiently long period of time where one is not sure if the drink is part of the toast or just an inconsequential gesture.

The two sit in an awkward silence that is eventually broken by the host.

"So how's business?"

"We don't have much time." The man consults his watch. "Our previous agreement runs out in 12 hours."

"Fine. Straight to business then." The host takes another drink of his nectar. "What do you propose?"

The man sits up as tall as he can, swallows and takes the first of many deep breathes.

"First of all, let's look at you position.", the man begins.

"You sit in a position of great power. One that has lasted longer than all of your predecessors combined." He waits until he can read his words on his host's face.

"And why?" He feigns to wait for an answer.

"Because of your ruthless treatment of those who oppose you?"

"Or perhaps, because so many claim their loyalty? A loyalty that is obtained by fear of reprisal and isn't worth the breathe it takes to utter a single adoration."

The host is clearly uncomfortable with the man's rhetoric. "And your point?"

"The point is that you have something none of your predecessors possessed."

The man waits for the inevitable question which the now frustrated host blurts, "What? What do I have?"

The man pauses to bask in this moment and lets those words hang for just the right amount of time before answering them.

"Me.", which he punctuates by taking another drink.

"You?"

"Yes.", he says with more confidence than he actually has.

The host breaks off a piece of bread and takes a bite chewing it slowly and deliberately, then through gnashed up dough asks, "How do you figure?", which he then chases with a bit of wine.

In a classic mirroring move, the man too grabs a bit of bread, but in stark contrast holds the bread over the open flame of the candle until it is blackened.

"I do the things you cannot." He pops the blackened bread into his mouth.

"Only because I let you", the host reminds.

"That's because without me, you have no relevance."

"The way I see it", the host retorts, "without me, you have no relevance."

"And in that truth lies our unholy alliance."

The man gets up, opens the briefcase he's been sitting on, pulls out a thousand page document and throws it onto the table.

And while still standing, he demands, "Read it."

_____

The early morning light that falls across the sleeping woman's face, which is pressed up against the window of the limo, wakes her just as the man exits the restaurant.

His return is quickly followed by a query. "Well?"

The man contains his emotion but for a smirk. "He signed it."

The woman flings her arms around the man's neck. "That's wonderful."

She hugs him a good long time, long enough for the man's determination to wane and give way to a modest smile.

She sits back in her seat and asks hopefully, "Can we celebrate now?"

The man grabs his briefcase. "Of course." Then he pops it open and pulls out a black bound book.

"What is it?"

"He gave me his book to read. He writes one book and then expects everyone to read it. What arrogance."

"Are you going to?"

"Trust me I have." He rolls down the window and tosses it out.

As the limo drives off in the dim light of dawn, the license plate is intermittently illuminated by the flickering trunk light.

It reads "CUFF DOG".

The discarded black bound book lying face down in gutter water is retrieved by the tattered hand of a homeless man who turns over the book and reads the title while moving his parched lips.

A momentary look of hope sweeps over the destitute man's face when he realizes his good fortune.

He basks in this fleeting moment of fortune before tearing out the pages and stuffing them into his coat to insulate his body from the cold.

The outer cover is discarded back to the gutter, this time with the title facing up.

It reads: "Holy Bible"