The Negotiator

The Hanrahan's

I booked into the five-star Excelsior Shamrock hotel taking a mid-priced suite. No point in being too extravagant, this was a supposed to be business trip. I was told Patricia Hanrahan frequented the place most Friday nights with her husband, Seamus.

Sure enough, at 8:30 they turned up at the bar. She was dressed in an elegant midnight blue gown that must have cost a fortune. He was smart casual, Chino’s and a blazer with some posh golf club badge on the breast pocket and an open-necked check shirt. She looked like a model, he looked like a builder’s labourer, despite his fancy togs.

They sat at the bar sipping champagne and chatting spasmodically. I walked up a couple of feet from them and ordered a scotch on the rocks. She glanced at me. I could feel her eyes assessing me.

I threw a couple of notes on the bar ‘keep the change’ I told the barman.

‘You’re American’ she said.

I looked up feigning surprise ‘yes ma’am’ I answered politely ‘I’m Jack Murphy from West Virginia.’

‘An Irish name’ she smiled ‘Your folks were originally from here I take it?’

‘From Cork, I believe, although that was way, way back.’

‘You staying long?’ Seamus asked, his gruff voice grated like a file on an anvil.

‘No, a week or so I suppose’ I told him ‘I have quite a few business meetings to attend then away back home.’

He feigned interest and produced a warm smile ‘and what line would that be in Jack?’

‘I’m a freelance agent. I’m here to buy crystal and linen for a company in Boston.’

‘Boston? We have a lot of friends there. What company would that be then?’

I told him and took a swig of my drink ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir, ma’am, I’ve had a long day.’

I turned to go but she put her hand on my shoulder ‘Sorry Jack, my husband didn’t mean to pry, it’s just that we don’t get to speak to many interesting strangers.’

Ah, flattery, I thought, she’s interested even if only slightly.

‘I’m Patricia Hanrahan, this is my husband Seamus, we’re local business people in our own small way.’

I didn’t pick up her lead to ask what business they were in. I just smiled in return and took her offered hand then shook with Seamus. He was one of those annoying buggers who like to demonstrate their strength by crushing the offered hand. It was an ego thing, the message was “don’t mess with me, I’m stronger than you.”

I winced slightly to show I was intimidated, no point letting the sod assess me as a possible threat. ‘Pleased to meet you folks, I’m sure. Now, I really must get some sleep. Jet lag, you’ll understand I'm sure. I have several meetings tomorrow. Hopefully, we'll meet again before I go back?’ I smiled in as friendly a way as I can manage with a mug like mine.

I went to my suite satisfied that I’d made a reasonable start. Not pushy or hail-fellow-well-met.

I called upon my first company the next day. The sales director, one Mr Adrian Costello, was a smooth bastard who tried to take the piss on price. ‘I’m new to the company Mr Costello’ I told him ‘but far from new to business. Shall we start again?’

His face went as sour as a quart of vinegar for a second then he smiled, recovering his composure. ‘When TPI employed their own buyer, we had a mutually rewarding relationship’ he said, suddenly changing tack, he smiled broadly now, spreading his hands and shrugging.

If that was the opening gambit to see if I was venal he was playing a losing game. I ignored the ploy, refusing to ask what he meant.

I told him his was not the only company I was seeing regarding these goods and he folded immediately and started talking turkey. After all, I was talking a million dollars’ worth of merchandise. I left him hanging at the end and said I’d call next day. He didn’t like it but smiled all the same, offering me a drink for the road which I firmly declined.

And thus I started a new career as a freelance buyer, a negotiator. When I rang Tea Party and told them of the deal I’d got for them, I made sure I used the phone in my room, there being a good chance some nosey sod would eavesdrop.

The director, Wilson, could hardly believe his ears.

‘Great price Jack’ he told me sounding pleased, ‘our own guy never came close to that.’

His old employee was on the take that’s why, but I thought that too much info over the phone.

Next night I was in the bar after dinner when who should breeze in but Patricia Hanrahan. She pretended not to see me at first and slid onto a barstool ordering a drink.

I moved in ‘Oh hi, Patricia is Seamus not with you tonight?’

She turned, her smile was broad, her eyes sparkled ‘Oh hello Jack, I thought you’d be in your room writing up million dollar deals.’ She laughed and winked, she’d had a few drinks before she came here.

‘Allow me to get that.’ I looked at the barman ‘I’ll have a double scotch please, charge it to suite 202.’

‘You have a suite?’

‘Only a modest one, but a busy man needs a certain level of comfort to keep fresh and sharp. Is Seamus not coming?’ I asked, looking over her shoulder.

‘He’s at his bloody golf club again I expect or shagging some little floozy’ a bitter smile marred her beautiful face for a second then she switched it off and beauty returned.

I looked embarrassed ‘oh, I see.’

‘No, Jack you don’t, but don’t let that bother you. It’s an old story and I won’t bore you with it.’ her smile broadened now, and her face looked radiant. ‘It’s a two-way street’ she said pointedly then she changed the subject. ‘What exactly does a freelance buyer do?’

I explained briefly that to employ a buyer to travel is expensive for a company with salary, expenses, life insurance, holiday pay and sickness insurance. I worked on a commission so that cuts the company’s expenses to zero and my commission is tax deductible for them, so it was a win-win situation. The companies selling the goods could, of course, send their salesmen out, but they, too, had the same expensive problem.

She nodded ‘so you make a decent living?’

‘I get by.’

She looked me up and down with a practised eye taking in my watch, and clothes and shoes in one expert sweep, sniffing discretely to assess my aftershave. ‘Yes, I guess you do.’

We chatted a while longer about this and that. She asked about my family. I told her that I was an only child and that my parents were dead. It was difficult meeting anyone in my line of work, so most of my relationships had been short-lived. ‘However,’ I added 'on a brighter note, I’m young and there’s plenty of time.’ That much was true.

She asked if I’d be free for lunch the next day, pre-empting me by a few seconds. I pulled a small diary out of my inside pocket. ‘I’ve a meeting at nine here in the city it should be over by eleven, but are you sure it will be all right?’

‘Oh, you mean is Seamus likely to turn up and start a fight?’ She giggled again, giving a slight hiccup, which I didn’t believe was genuine, then she crossed and uncrossed her lovely long legs revealing her underwear for the merest fraction of a second ‘there’s no chance of that, he’s away up to Belfast tomorrow morning, yet again.’ Her mouth turned down at the corners and a brief, bitter smile crossed her face.

We arranged to meet at a small, discreet and very expensive restaurant just off O’Connell street the next day.

She finished her drink and stood up ‘I suppose I’d better be on my way to minister to my lord and master’s business’ she said then she leant forward and brushed my cheek lightly with her lips and walked unsteadily out of the bar, ‘see ya, Jack.’

Back in my suite, I checked my tell-tales. The minute slip of paper I’d placed on the edge of a drawer was on the carpet, the faint pencil mark around part of the rubber telephone foot was half an inch away from where I’d drawn it. My passport had been moved so that the sock that I had arranged very slightly over one corner was no longer in its exact place. So, was her visit a ploy to hold me in the bar whilst Seamus or someone else went snooping through my things? Someone was interested in me. I’d have to be very careful to appear to be exactly what I was supposed to be. On the other hand, it could be the very thing I needed, I’d be able to feed ‘em what I liked within reason.

Next day I rang Wilson, the CEO of Tea Party Imports Inc from a phone box. I was five hours ahead of Boston time and he wasn’t too pleased with receiving an early morning call at home. I warned him I was being bugged so make no reference to my mission, if he rang me at the hotel, not that he knew any details, but any careless word could mean disaster.

Patricia looked even taller and more elegant in very high heels and a green pencil skirt with a matching top, emphasizing her slender figure. The top was cut away and fashioned to show her amazing breasts to their maximum fullness.

She wore a doubtful smile, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her handbag, betraying her nervousness.

‘Drink?’ I asked smiling. I felt my left eye twitch as a shiver ran down my spine. I was nervous, too.

My mate Jonno was much better looking than me and a dab hand with women. The cheeky bugger was as smooth as a mink-lined jockstrap, so what would he do in this situation? I remembered his advice: the more you make them laugh, the looser their knickers become. He was a great comic, I wasn’t too bad, but I was not in his league.

She smiled ‘dry white wine please.’ I signalled the waiter. The meal was luxurious, well cooked and not pretentious; our waiter was attentive without hovering. I was enjoying myself. We talked about our lives, my grounding in the American lifestyle was tested almost to the limit. She’d been to Boston several times and enjoyed it.

After a couple more drinks she became serious, telling me of her dissatisfaction with her marriage. Interpreting what she said, she was once a night, he was once a fortnight. It wasn’t that his libido was weak, he just preferred women in the eighteen to twenty-five age range. She’d long ago caught him out cheating on her, now he made no secret of his infidelity.

She told me of her abusive father who had wanted a boy but got her instead and then, to add to his frustration, her mother had to have a hysterectomy after giving birth. That compounded her father’s disappointment. He made her life a misery with constant criticism of everything she did until she felt totally worthless.

She married Hanrahan when she was still young and naive. He was an adoring fiancée treating her like a princess, but that all changed soon after their wedding. Again, she said, she could do no right. ‘It was like being married to a younger version of my dad’ she told me ‘only dad never hit me.’

I made some sympathetic noises, then she changed the subject. Suddenly she brightened up, a broad smile lighting up her face ‘But you don’t want to hear this negative nonsense, I’m sure’ she declared and put her hand over mine giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘Let’s not spoil this beautiful meal.’

I laughed, relieved to change the subject. By using one of Jonno’s deliberately cheesy lines, I made her laugh. ‘So, you have plenty of time for these lunches, between your modelling assignments, do you?’

She nearly choked on a mouthful of food laughing, so I followed up with a couple of silly jokes. Her mood brightened considerably, and she reached out squeezing my hand again and beaming me a huge smile.

‘Thank you for cheering me up Jack.’

After the meal we were both replete and a little tipsy. We took a taxi to a local motel, it was clear the staff knew her as the guy who took my room booking gave me a knowing wink, the cheeky bastard.

Once the room door closed she became eager, practically pushing me on the bed and kissing me with a wild passion.

We undressed each other hurriedly. It had been a while since I’d bedded Marty and I was ready. Oh god, was I ready.

She was lithe, nimble and very experienced, going down on me like a thing possessed. She took me in her lovely mouth so deep I thought she would choke. She could squeeze with her deep throat muscles and suck simultaneously. God, she was good.

I returned her passion, licking and flicking lightly on her engorged c**t, pushing my tongue into her, slowly increasing my speed until she moaned, ‘oh, Jack, please.’ She turned, her voice was low, harsh and demanding, her face contorted with lust.

‘Call me a b***h, Jack, call me a dirty w***e, a slut, take me from the back, make it rough, please, Jack, make it rough.’

I duly obliged, ramming her with all the strength I could muster, calling her a dirty w***e, a b***h, and a low-life tart.

I drove into her harder and harder, faster and faster, trying desperately not to come before her. She was nearly there, her whimpers turned to squeals as she approached orgasm.

‘I have a good mind to ram it right up your tight little ass, you worthless w***e’ I told her.

That did it, with a scream that must have been heard at the reception desk she came, gushing in great gouts, hot and powerfully, soaking the bed with her spurting love juice.

Afterwards, we lay in silence for a long time. She lit a cigarette drawing in the smoke deeply. Then I took a shower, luxuriating in the scalding water, washing away my sweat and her odour. What now? I wondered. I was puzzled as to why she wanted me to abuse her. I was far from comfortable with it but, I reminded myself this is work Jack, just work. I felt deeply sorry for her though. She was all elegance and sophistication on the outside and a wrecked bundle of insecurities on the inside. I’m sure a psychiatrist could have explained it, but I was baffled.

I slipped back into bed. ‘That was beautiful Jack’ she told me ‘now that you know what a wicked, wanton woman I am, can we do it gently this next time?’

‘You’re not wicked’ I told her grinning, ‘we all have our fantasies, mine’s being pinned down and r***d by three horny bi-s****l women.’

She laughed then and any tension she had felt about revealing her lustful desires evaporated. ‘You’re a rum bugger Jack Murphy, so you are.’ she laughed, ‘and I know a few women who wouldn’t mind making your dreams come true me boy.’

I laughed with her, wondering where we went from here, but for now, I concentrated on satisfying her again, this time slowly, gently, subtly raising her to spasms of ecstasy.

Afterwards, she lit another cigarette and propped herself up on the pillows ‘what do you know about the troubles, Jack? She asked casually.

‘Not much, I kinda stay away from politics, especially over here. I know feelings run strong on both sides, so I stick to business, it’s safest. Anyway, that’s all way up to the North ain’t it?’

She remained silent, drawing smoke in deeply, her face a study in concentration then she brushed her hair off her face where passion sweat had stuck it. ‘You Yanks had to fight the Brits for independence, didn’t you? Do you think we’re wrong for wanting the whole of Ireland united?’

I didn’t answer immediately, trying to look thoughtful. I scratched the back of my head ‘Gee, I haven’t given it any thought’ I told her. ‘We did a bit about the Easter risings at school but that was a long time ago.’

Her eyes narrowed, her left fist clenched, and she thumped the bed ‘that’s the trouble with most of you bloody Yanks’ she snapped ‘if something isn’t happening in America or to America then it just isn’t happening’ she glared at me, ‘I’ve watched American T.V. news over there. Christ, the rest of the world hardly merits a mention before the newsreader is doing a fuckin’ dog food commercial.’

She seemed to think I should respond in some way. I just looked confused and scratched my ear ‘Well, honey, I’m sure sorry to disappoint you, but America has been involved in European politics, and wars, too, and much good it’s done us.’

She retreated immediately ‘Sorry Jack, don’t take it personally. I guess I just feel so angry about the injustice of it all.’ She told me of the struggle as she saw it. She had some valid points, too. Catholics in the North were discriminated against in jobs, housing and in schools. The police were almost a hundred percent Protestant, too, leading to lots of injustices. I nodded and listened carefully, like a man making a new appreciation.

‘When are you going back to the States, Jack?’

‘Next week, on Thursday I guess, unless they give me a new assignment, why?’

‘Oh, I have a small favour to ask, that’s all’ she looked thoughtful as she stubbed her cigarette out, blowing the last lungful of smoke ceilingward. The sheet slipped revealing her rose-tipped milky white breasts ‘It’s nothing that important, but it would help if you delivered a letter to friends of mine.’

‘Why not just post it?’

‘Call me paranoid, but I believe our security people are intercepting our mail and listening to our phone calls, then passing the info to the Brits.’

‘Ain’t that illegal?’

She laughed, looking me up and down and shaking her head, ‘of course it’s illegal, but they’ve never allowed a small thing like the law to get in their way.’

We got dressed then, I didn’t give her an answer and she didn’t push it. On the way out I asked, ‘can I see you again, baby?’

She paused ‘nothing I’d like better Jack, but the rest of this week is difficult. I’ll ring your hotel as soon as I can arrange something, Ok?’

I looked downcast, extending my bottom lip ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

She grabbed my arm and swung me to face her ‘Look, Jack’, she said, her eyes serious, ‘I’m not fobbing you off. That was the best f**k I’ve had in years, I’m not making excuses, OK?’ I nodded. ‘It’s just that I have important charity work to do next week. I’ve some funerals to arrange and that takes time, alright?’

‘Funerals? As in more than one?’

‘Yeah, for the American Irish Society, it’s no big deal it just takes up time, I still want to see you, OK?

I smiled, ‘well that’s nice to hear ‘cos I have never slept with a woman like you before, I want more, much more.’ I meant it, too.

She laughed then and broke the tension. ‘You just go back to work and look after that magnificent c**k of yours, no playing with it, OK?’ She winked, ‘I want you ready, willing and able before you bugger off back to the States.’

‘Fine,’ I told her, ‘and bring that letter with you, too, I’ll post it over there.’

We kissed then and went our separate ways.

We met again on the following Monday, her lust replenished. She handed me a long slim envelope sealed with wax. It was addressed to Seamus O’Rourke at his business address.

‘How do the Brits open a letter like this without it being spotted?’ I asked curiously. If I thought opening it and reading the contents was going to be easy, then I had another think coming.

‘Oh, that’s not too difficult if you have the resources of MI5 or the CIA’ she told me ‘they can photograph it, open it, then substitute the exact same envelope and wax all perfectly. They employ the best forgers in the world.’

I slid it into my pocket, ‘gee, then posting it in Boston wouldn’t do any good if the CIA is involved’ I said, ‘I’ll deliver it by hand.’

‘There’s sharp lad’ she cooed ‘now, are we going to f**k or talk?

I smiled and took her drink, laying it aside and drawing her to me.

‘You know what you threatened to do to me last time we did this?’

I was puzzled ‘I said a lot of things, dirty talk like you asked me to.’

‘You said you’d shove it up my tight little arse’ she breathed.

‘I was just talking dirty baby like you wanted.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve thought of nothing else since then, I’ve never tried it, but I’ve always been curious.’ She produced a condom and a tube of lubricant gel from her handbag. ‘Please?’

It wasn’t really my thing, but I had to keep her sweet. She winced as I penetrated her, emitting a cry of pain, but she told me to keep on going. Once I’d slipped past her sphincter it was easy. She moaned, I called her a filthy w***e, a low-life slut and a dirty b***h. She loved it but wasn’t orgasmic.

After a while she had me withdraw and I slipped the condom off. ‘Now, f**k me hard she croaked, her eyes molten with lust. We were in the missionary position when I felt her doing something behind my back. I was on the point of orgasm when she slipped her lubricated finger right up my arse and applied pressure to my prostate gland ‘oh Christ,’ I yelled, my accent slipping as my c**k exploded.

It was just the two words, but I cursed myself inwardly. Had she noticed? I quickly covered her with kisses and slipped my hand between us, finding her c**t. She was delirious with pleasure and had multiple orgasms that seemed to last an age.

Afterwards, she said nothing and seemed to be her normal self, laughing and chattering inanely so I had gotten away with it, but it was a stark warning to always be on my guard.

Later, I rang Harriet and updated her.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘leave it to me, you’ll be met in Boston, hand over the letter, you’ll have it back before you know it.’ She rang off, leaving me to wonder how I would be met and by whom. How long would it take? O’Rourke would know I was coming, any delay in delivery would raise suspicions, something I couldn’t afford to do.