Title: No Matter What The Future Brings

Author/Pseudonym: Tinnean

Note: A fin is $5 and a sawbuck is $10

Note: lucifer is a match

No Matter What The Future Brings
by Tinnean

It was his nose mostly, I think. Straight. Patrician. Elegant.

The first time I saw him, and saw that nose, I fell.

I was working as a professor at the time. Strangely enough, so was he, although our jobs were nowhere near the same.

He was a guest lecturer at City College of the City of New York, while I...well, I was tickling the ivories in the parlor of a bawdy house on 118th Street.

I was trying to pick out the notes to a piece of music a colored boy had given me back when I first enlisted. Joplin was his name, if I remember correctly, and he died not too long after that.

Pity. He wrote good music.

Some gentlemen callers staggered through the door, pulling at their coats in a vain attempt to straighten them and trying to look sober.

All except one, who *was* sober.

I glanced at Jake, our bouncer, and he gave me the high sign, letting me know he had his good eye on them. Jake only had one good eye, but when he turned the burnt side of his ruined face toward you, it didn't make any difference. He was a man not to be fucked with.

Our latest callers paired off with some of the girls and I went back to diddling with the tune. There was that one bridge that I just couldn't seem to get my fingers to reach.

"May I?" a lightly accented voice asked.

And there he was.

I managed to grin around the cigarette dangling from my mouth, the long trail of ash never quite reaching the point where gravity took over and spilled it to my lap. I nodded toward the space next to me on the bench and he slid down and flexed his fingers.

Long, graceful, with neatly trimmed nails, they hovered for a moment over the keys, and then settled to strike a chord.

I winced at the sounds he was producing, and he smiled and shrugged, and leaned against the keyboard.

"I'm not very good," he said apologetically.

"No, you're not," I laughed, and thrust out a hand to him. "Rick Blaine."

"Victor Lazlo." His warm, dry palm grasped mine and my eyes shot up to his in surprise.

I disengaged from his grip before I could betray my interest in what he made me feel. "You're not from around here, are you?" I wanted to groan. That was a really bright remark.

He pondered a beat, then responded as if the fate of the world hung on his answer. "No, I am Czech."

"Czech...mate?" I kidded, but he took me seriously. I was to learn that he had no sense of humor.

He shook his head. "I forget you Americans are so insulated. Czechoslovakian. It's a fair-sized country in eastern Europe."

"I know, it declared its independence from Austria-Hungary in the last couple of years, didn't it?" I could tell I surprised him. Just because I worked in a whorehouse didn't mean I wasn't au courant with current events. I read the Tribune! "So, what are you doing here in the States?"

"I have been invited by the City College to speak of what is happening in Europe, of the strikes, and the battles and the acts of sheer brutality that are going on. Georges Clemenceau asked me to try to awaken the American people to the dangers that are lurking on the horizon!"

"The Tiger? You know the Tiger?"

"You have heard of him?"

"You bet your ass! I saw him when I was in France. I would have sold my soul to meet him, but my regiment was assigned elsewhere and then they found out I was underage and..."

"You fought in the War? C'est impossible!"

"Why is it impossible? Because I work where I work? I think you're a snob, my friend!"

He looked at me from under his eyelashes and a slow smile warmed his features. I felt my heart stutter in my chest. "I think you're correct. Forgive me, mon vieux?"

My mouth went dry and I nodded, my head jerking as if it was on a string. "Care for a drink?" I tried to ask carelessly.

"Isn't Prohibition in effect in this country?"

"Sure, but who pays attention to that?"

"You break the law so casually?"

"What you have to do is know the laws so you can break 'em! And then you have to know whose palm to grease."

He looked so stern, and I wanted to be inside him so badly. I almost came right that minute. Then his face relaxed. "This is true."

"So you'll have a drink with me?"

"If you'll let me buy."

For a moment I forgot to breathe. No one had ever offered to buy me anything before.

"Sure." I was at a loss at how to deal with this. "Just as long as you realize I'm not that kind of guy!"

He went very still. "What kind of 'guy' is that?"

I had been trying to keep it light, but somehow only managed to put my foot in it. "I...I only meant I don't roll over for just a drink. I...didn't mean to insinuate..."

He rose to his feet, making a production of checking the time. "That's quite all right, it's getting late. I should be going."

I grabbed his sleeve. "Your friends are still occupied, and it's *not* that late. Let me buy *you* a drink."

He thought about it, then relaxed and sat back down beside me. "Cointreau, perhaps?"

I looked at him blankly.

"Absinthe?"

Still no response from me. A small smile curved his lips and I lost myself in the wonder of contemplating his mouth. What would it feel like, under mine?

"I'll have whatever you're having, Richard."

"Rick. My friends all call me Rick." I was growing rock hard in my trousers.

He leaned closer to me. "But I want to be more than your friend...Richard."

Part 2

I sucked so hard on my cigarette that the ash trembled once and then finally spilled down my vest and onto my lap. The smoke clogged my lungs and I began choking on it.

And then his lips were on mine and he was inhaling the smoke I was coughing out, swallowing it deeply.

I had never been kissed by another man before, and I shivered. The sensations caused by his mouth had me sagging bonelessly against him, needing something, needing ... more.

One of the benefits of my current job was access to the girls. And when the nights got too lonely to bear, sometimes I took advantage of that outlet. But none of them, pretty and skilled as they were, had ever had me so hard I thought I would explode.

My hands sought his shoulders and I pulled him closer to me, trying to get inside his skin.

"Ah *hem*!" The extremely loud sound of Jake clearing his throat brought me back to reality and I shied away from Victor Lazlo so abruptly that I lost my balance and fell off the piano bench.

"You might want to take that out back, kid. If Miss Claudie ever caught you canoodling with one of her johns, you just might be out on the street!"

The Czech said nothing, waiting to see what my move would be.

"You gonna keep this to yourself, Jake?"

His ruined smile had a sadistic twist to it. "Sure, kid. But you can bet your ass it's gonna cost you!"

I climbed to my feet and dusted the cigarette ash off my trousers. Then I walked to the bouncer, my right hand extended in a conciliatory manner. His smile widened in satisfaction and he took my hand.

My grip tightened, not painfully, but just enough to hold him in place. I swung from the shoulder and planted my left fist in his face. His lips split and blood dripped down his chin. I hit him again, and this time the cartilage in his nose crunched. One more blow, this one to his glass jaw, and I released my hold on his hand.

He staggered back, stumbled over his feet and fell to the oriental carpet Miss Claudie favored. She wasn't going to be too happy with him. Blood could be so difficult to get out of that type of rug!

I leaned over and hissed in his ear, "*This* will cost me *nothing*, Jake. And if I ever hear of this incident getting out, I will come back and personally destroy the other half of your face. When I get finished with you, your own mother will cringe in horror! Have I made myself clear?"

"Yeah, I hear you!" he said grudgingly. I turned to pick up my music and Victor cried a warning.

"RICHARD!"

I swung around and the full weight of my body was behind that last punch. Jake went down for the long count. I pulled back my foot to plant a solid blow to his ribs, when Victor placed a gentling hand on my arm.

"You've won; you don't need to kick him."

"You don't understand. He would have done that, and *worse* to me!"

"But if you do that to him, that will make you as bad as he is."

"Yeah, so?"

"And *I* would be so disappointed in you." That last was spoken quietly.

I gnawed indecisively on my lip. And then he smiled, and I knew he had won.

"I have to get out of here. When Jake comes to, he'll lose no time in telling Miss Claudie what I've done." I headed for the back of the house where the tiny room I called home was situated.

"You've lost your job, because of me?" He was following me down the dimly lit hallway.

I shrugged. "This isn't my first job. It won't be my last." I was on my knees, my rump up in the air, as I searched under my bed for the grip I had brought to the whorehouse with me.

"What an absolutely delicious ass you have, Richard!" His long fingers stroked up the crevice between my buttocks and a sound that was half moan, half whimper whispered from my throat. "Do you like that, cheri?"

Like it? I had never felt anything close to that in my life. My knees slid farther apart of their own volition and my ass raised higher as I pressed back against those probing fingers, wanting to feel them inside me.

He pulled me out from under the bed and rolled me onto my back. In the dark of my room, his eyes were like shadowed pools of midnight, glittering feverishly into mine. Slowly he lowered his head until his breath washed over my lips. His hand was between my thighs, cupping the arousal that growing more insistent by the minute, then abandoning it to squeeze and roll my balls.

"I can give you so much more, Richard!" he said softly, and then he kissed me. His lips pressed against mine until I parted them and he gained entrance to the moist heat of my mouth. His tongue surged in and lazily licked and stroked my tongue. I couldn't breathe.

Victor Lazlo pulled away from me, watching in satisfaction as I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting his passion.

And then we heard the slightly drunken giggling as one of the girls saw her john to the front door. And I was jolted back to reality.

"I have to get out of here! Jake is going to try to beat the shit out of me if he catches me here when he comes to!"

I climbed to my feet, pulling the grip up after me. For some reason my fingers were all thumbs and it took longer than it should have for me to pack. Finally I just dumped shirts and trousers and underwear into the case any which way and snapped it shut. Victor was holding the sheet music, and I extended my hand for it.

He looked down at the scales and notes and clefs, then raised his eyes to mine and smiled. He turned on his heel and walked out of my room.

"Hey!" I bolted after him, lugging the grip. "That's mine!"

"And of course I'll return it to you, Richard. When I get you to my place!"

Part 3

I wanted to nip into Miss Claudie's office and rifle the contents of her safe, lightening them by just a little bit, but Victor wouldn't allow me to follow my own inclinations.

"That would not be the proper thing to do, Richard!"

"But she owes me a week's salary!"

He just kept insisting that breaking and entering into my former employer's safe was not honorable.

And while I had done some things in my life that were not strictly by the book, I had never yet crossed the line. I found I wanted him to ... think well of me.

So I trailed after him out onto the street with only a fin and a sawbuck in my pocket, and no prospect of a job.

That didn't worry me much. I was old enough now so that I could join the US army. They needed soldiers, to patrol the Canal Zone, the Philippines, the southwest border. How different could our army be from the Canadian one?

I stood on the curb, hesitating as he hailed a cab. Did he really want to take me back to his room?

He gazed at me blandly. "Well, Richard? Get in!"

When he said my name in that tone of voice, he didn't have to order me twice. I was in the cab and waiting for him before the words were out of his mouth.

I wanted to pull him into my arms and feed off his mouth, but this time I used a little discretion, and just sat back and devoured him with my eyes.

He was leaning slightly forward, talking in a low voice to the driver. He looked over his shoulder and saw me watching him, and I heard him catch his breath.

"Tell me something, Richard."

"Sure." I shifted restlessly on the back seat, my trousers suddenly too snug for comfort.

"Have you done this before?"

"Done...what?" I hedged, shooting a cautious glance at the driver's head.

He said something in a language I was unfamiliar with. I had picked up some French when I was in the Canadian army, and the neighborhood I grew up in was such a melting pot that I couldn't help but learn a smattering of German and Italian. But this was a language that might as well have been Greek, for all I understood it.

The cab pulled to the curb and Victor smiled tightly as he reached into his pocket for the fare. I followed him onto the sidewalk and stood there doubtfully. He tipped my chin up just a bit. Although I had gained my full height when I was still a kid, it had taken me a long time to get comfortable with it.

"Stand straight, Richard," he murmured. "You can be so much more than you allow yourself to be. Ah, come this way." He led me up the steps of the brownstone and into the building.

I wandered about his room, examining it with some interest. It contained an iron bedstead, a nightstand and a simple chest of drawers. The lavatory was down the hall, and if you needed to bathe, the public baths were a couple of blocks over.

"What about your friends?" I asked, a little tense, trying to make conversation. I always was uncomfortable in those moments before I actually got down to the business at hand.

"Merely colleagues," he corrected. "They wanted to show me a good time in the big, bad city."

"And did they?"

"Show me a good time? No, I think they were having a better time than I was. That is, until they took me to Miss Claudie's Bawdy House!" He smiled teasingly at me.

"Won't they be worried about you?"

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on my mouth, and my lips parted.

"They teach at the college where I have been invited to speak. I'll see them again on Monday. I sincerely doubt they'll even miss me. They perceive me as an alarmist, and are uncomfortable in my company. They refuse to face reality, and so dismiss what is happening in Europe."

"What *is* happening in Europe?" I asked distractedly, not really caring. I was enjoying the feel of his fingers threading through my hair, flexing against my scalp. I closed my eyes and almost
purred.

"Dangerous times are ahead, my friend, for us all! Many have died, and many more to come! I fear this is just the beginning!"

"'Every man's death concerns me, for I am involved in mankind'?"

"You know Donne?"

"Why does that surprise you?" I was getting impatient. "D'you think, because I'm American, I haven't read Donne, or I'm ignorant of what's going on in Europe?"

"Not many in this country do. That is why I was asked to come here. We are going to need help so desperately!" He didn't want to talk politics any longer; he licked the side of my throat.

And I lost my train of thought. His fingers were busy with the buttons of my vest, and I leaned against him and spread my legs, rubbing my urgent arousal against him.

I relished his hands on my body, one firmly kneading my ass, the other stroking the front of my trousers.

With a soft groan I reached up and bit at his mouth. "Kiss me!" I whispered. "Kiss me as if there was no tomorrow!"

My trousers were somehow down around my ankles and I was bare to his touch. "You never answered me, mon coeur. *Have* you done this before?"

I shook my head. I didn't want to talk, didn't want to think. This act would put me beyond the pale. I heard, the time I spent in the army, what men had called those who preferred their own sex, and I didn't want to consider what making love with another man would make me. I just knew that I wanted it, had to have it, with the Czech.

And so, that night he made me his. On the simple iron bed in that sparsely furnished room, he took me in his mouth and suckled me to completion. While my body was still quaking from the aftershocks of his lovemaking, he turned me onto my stomach and pressed a well-lubricated finger past the tight ring of muscle that guarded my opening.

Then, for the first time, I felt him begin to slide his prick into me. "Cheri, I will make this so good for you!" he vowed. The sting was fleeting. When I would have moaned a protest at the discomfort, he turned my head and took my mouth, filling it with his tongue, stifling my gasps. I was determined to tolerate it without complaining, but then he crossed something inside me and I felt as if he had set me on fire.

He did it again, and I needed more of that feeling. I got my knees up under me and thrust back, trying to match his rhythm.

I was hard once more, and he took me in hand, his fingers sliding and stroking. He fastened his teeth on the back of my neck and with a hoarse groan, he began to come, the heat of his climax a burning torment inside me, until I too began spilling myself over his hand, over my abdomen, over the sheets.

I collapsed under him, his weight a warmth and a comfort against my back. "Will you let me stay the night?" I mumbled wearily as I tried to catch my breath.

"Of course, cheri. And for as long after that as you like."

A grin was making its way across my face when I tumbled headlong into a dreamless sleep.

****

I was alone when I awoke, but only as long as it took for him to fetch us two steaming cups of coffee. He set the cups down on the nightstand and sat beside me on the bed. "How are you feeling this morning, mon coeur? Sore?"

"Just a little," I conceded, not wanting to discourage him if he chose to use me again. "Nothing to signify. And you, mon ange? Are you sorry you hooked up with a professor from a whorehouse?"

"You speak French!"

"Un peu," I said, holding my thumb and index finger a hair's-breadth apart.

"Richard, you enchant me!" His mouth came down to claim mine. "I regret nothing!" he whispered against my lips.

And the coffee grew very cold.

Part 4

"Where are you going?"

I grinned at my lover, lying there in the bed we shared, then turned back to the mirror over his dresser and continued fussing with my tie.

"Gotta go look for a job, cher homme. Can't have all your friends thinking you're keeping me."

"Would that be so bad?"

"What, your friends thinking I'm a tramp?"

He shook his head. "If anything, they'd think you're a gigolo, and that I am quite the, how do you say, dapper dan? to have someone as tasty as you in my life. But they don't: they think you're the most fascinating creature they've ever come in contact with. You made such an impression on them at the cocktail party last night."

****

I'd agreed, reluctantly, to attend the party the chairman of his department was hosting. With some of the money I had on me after I left Miss Claudie's, I was able to purchase a presentable suit jacket. My trousers were still good, and the vest was my good luck charm: I bought it with my last army paycheck and had landed a decent job not long thereafter.

"You'll have a good time, Richard, I promise you," my lover said as he crossed the threshold of the chairman's house.

"If you say so, Victor." But I was withholding judgment at that point. A lot of rich, college boys had come uptown to Miss Claudie's to spend their daddies' money, and I had helped Jake toss out more than one of them.

I paused to marvel at him as he walked up to his sponsor, his hand outstretched in greeting. Graceful, polished, cultured, he was everything I wasn't. I shook a cigarillo from the slim pack I carried in my vest and dipped my head to touch the tip to a lucifer, never taking my eyes from the scene before me.

Students and instructors alike hurried to his side, eager to speak with him, to touch his arm, to bathe in the aura of the man. They might not pay any heed to the message he was trying to get across to them, but the man himself they liked and respected.

Some, perhaps, even wanted the fine body concealed by the sedate suits he wore.

I allowed a small smile to curl my lips and went to join him. One of the young men, who had been standing a little closer than I thought proper, caught that smile. He backed away involuntarily, and my smile broadened.

He could look all he wanted, but the man was mine.

I spent the evening fetching him drinks and hors d'oeuvres, saying little, observing much. He was a man others would follow, would be willing to die for. I knew that, because it was what I would do without a second thought.

****

"They were watching you, you know. You...intrigued them."

I snorted at him. "More likely they wondered why you kept someone around who couldn't hope, in this lifetime, to match your savoir-faire." I walked to the bed and leaned over to cup his chin in my hand. I tilted his head up and caressed his lips with my own, pressing lightly until he opened to me. We were both breathing heavily when I drew back. Serious now, I continued. "I *won't* be an embarrassment to you, cher ami. And...I need to know I can pull my own weight in this relationship."

"Richard, how many times must I tell you that you can do anything you set your mind to? Did you not run away to join the Canadian army and fight in the Great War? And exactly how old were you at that time?"

I shuffled my feet, uncomfortable with his praise. I had only done that because the young man next door, whom I... admired ... very much, had grown impatient with President Wilson's isolationist policy. Determined to fight the Huns, he had crossed the border and enlisted. His letters home were filled with such romance, and derring-do.

And then came word that he had been killed in the Argonne. I left for Canada the next day.

I lied about my age, and they chose to believe me. Basic training was duck soup compared to the treatment I got from my old man. At least no one there beat me with his belt.

Then we shipped out.

And I learned the truth about war. It was not romantic in the trenches. There was no derring-do. War was dirty and bloody and cold and wet, and the good ones died young. While bullets whizzed past my head, cutting my comrades to doll rags; while gas canisters exploded around me, and they dropped like flies, choking on their own vomit; while bombs shattered the stillness of those endless nights, I survived without a scratch.

****

"Richard, where have you gone?"

"Hmm?"

"You were a million miles away."

"Sorry." I turned to leave the room, but he caught my hand and pulled me to a halt.

"Cher amour, many men died in that war. But many men lived. You must not blame yourself because you were one of the lucky ones."

I stood frozen in the middle of the floor, ignoring everything he said as inconsequential except for the first words he uttered.

*Love*. He called me his love!

This was the first time it had ever been mentioned between us. With a low sound, I ripped at my tie, tossing it to the floor and threw myself at him. We fell backward onto the bed and I made myself hold still when all I wanted was to bury myself deep inside his heart. I couldn't take my eyes from that finely etched mouth.

Victor let his tongue slowly moisten his lips, and I moaned helplessly. I dropped my head and copying his movements, I licked his lips. His breath rushed out to wash into my mouth. Almost frantic with need, I grabbed his hand and brought it to my crotch. I could feel his smile as he stroked me through my trousers, his nails lightly digging into my hardened flesh.

It never failed to take me by surprise, that someone as refined as he could want a mug like me. But he did want me. The insistent erection pressing against my hip left me in no doubt of that.

While I struggled with the buttons on my trousers, Victor wrestled my vest and shirt off. His fingers scraped over my nipples, then traced the vee of hair that arrowed down past my waist. Spreading his hands to my hips, he eased my drawers down and paused to fill his hands with the heat and length of me.

"Take me, Richard! All this time, you've let me take you. Now I want you to take me!"

"Victor," I whispered hoarsely, shivers rippling the muscles of my abdomen. "Are you sure?"

In answer, he raised his hips and pressed my hand to his puckered entrance, and we moaned in unison.

Together we slicked the cold cream over my weeping prick. Together we smoothed it over his opening, preparing him. I bit at his shoulder as I slid into his impossibly hot passage, inch by excruciating inch.

I was babbling all the while, telling him how much I loved him, vowing to be with him forever, swearing eternal devotion. He turned my face toward his and took my mouth. My hips pounded forward, out of control, and I came apart in his arms.

It was only as I collapsed onto him and felt his hardness that I realized I had left him unsatisfied. "Victor..."

"Shhh, p'tit amour. It is all right."

I knew better than to argue. Instead, I eased myself gently out of him and continued to slide down his body. The head of his prick was a deep purple, and precome was beading at the tip. I touched the tip of my tongue to it, tasting him, and it jerked and quivered. With broad swipes, I painted the base and the sides, curling my tongue around it and tugging lightly.

Victor fell back onto the pillows and his hands clutched feverishly at my hair. And when I took him between my lips he made a soft keening sound that pierced me to my heart. I worked him until he was on the verge of coming. He tried to pull away from me, but I refused to let him.

And then he was erupting in my mouth, and I swallowed and swallowed, while he thrashed his head and gripped my shoulders so tightly I knew he would leave bruises.

It was unimportant. I wanted to be marked by him. I wanted others to know that I was his, if only for this moment.

It wouldn't last. I knew that. It couldn't.

A man as important as he...well, I was lucky having him love me for however brief a time we might have.

Part 5

I watched casually from the postage stamp sized stage as the crew began cleaning up. Smitty and Dutch were behind the bar, washing the glasses and stacking them neatly for the next night. Fast Franky lounged by the door, keeping an eye out for the coppers.

As well as rival gangs. Mr. Bartlett, our boss, had been having problems lately with the man who was supposed to be his friend, George Hally.

I'd been working at 'Eddie's Garage' for the past six months. I got the job in the speakeasy shortly after Victor had me move in with him, and I felt really good about contributing to our
finances. I just served the drinks, and once in a while bounced the rowdies, but with tips, I brought in more than Victor was making.

There actually was a garage fronting for the 'speak', and cars up on jacks, or with pieces scattered around them added to the illusion of a legitimate business. The password to get in was "I need a fill-up."

Sam, the colored boy Mr. B had recently hired, smiled up at me from his seat at the piano and tickled the ivories. "Can I play a song for you, Mr. Rick?"

I pulled the toothpick I had been chewing on out of my mouth and grinned at him. "I'm just Rick, Sam. You don't work for me."

He smiled sweetly at me. "Can I play a song for you, Mr. Rick?" he repeated.

I laughed and gave up. Ever since I had saved him from getting the stuffing beaten out of him, he had become my shadow and insisted on calling me mister. "Sure, Sam. Whatever is your pleasure."

"You a sentimental man, Mr. Rick?" His fingers wandered over the black and white keys. "You got someone at home who loves you?"

"Yeah, I guess you can say I do."

One of the girls in the show let me know she wasn't too busy to find some time to spend with me, if I was interested. She was a nice kid, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I just told her my dance card was all filled up.

Everyone in the speakeasy assumed I had a skirt at home. I just let them go on believing that.

Sam rolled his eyes at me and began to sing.

"Oh, do it again. I may say 'No, no, no, no, no!'

"But do it again.

"My lips just ache to have you take the kiss you promised, but then,

"Do it again, just do it again!"

Eddie Bartlett walked in from his office and stopped to listen. "Nice, Sam. Very nice. I'd like to hear that included in tomorrow night's show. If there is one." That last was said so softly I wasn't sure I heard correctly.

"Sure thing, Boss." Sam closed up the piano and took his pay. "Night, Boss. Night, Mr. Rick."

"Night, Sam." I pocketed the money Mr. Bartlett handed me and was about to follow the piano player into the night, when the boss touched my arm. "Yeah, Mr. B?"

"I need you to do me a favor, kid."

"Sure thing."

A wry smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. "Don't you want to know what it is?"

I shrugged. "You pay my salary, you call the shots."

"An attitude like that could get you killed."

"Then I'll die young and leave a good-looking corpse."

He doubled his fist and punched my shoulder gently. "C'mon in my office."

I followed him into the back room and he closed the door. That got me nervous. Mr. Bartlett was known for always keeping that door open. The girls appreciated it, and since he never used the couch in there for anything but sitting, the guys didn't care.

He saw how tense I was getting. "Relax, Ricky. I'm not about to chase you around my desk."

"Mr. B?" Until I knew exactly what his intentions were, I was not about to open my mouth and put my foot in it.

"I know I'm talked about behind my back. I know what they say about me."

He might know, but *I* had no idea what he was talking about. I told him so.

"You mean you haven't heard the men say I don't care for women as much as I should?"

I was getting worried. "Mr. Bartlett, they don't talk to me about anything. If they did, I wouldn't listen. It's not my business. I just do my job and go home."

He took a seat behind his desk and looked at me, his eyes suddenly so tired. "They talk about you too, you know."

"Oh?" I tried to make it sound noncommittal.

"It's hard finding a dame who inspires such fidelity. They can't understand that."

"I guess I'm lucky," I said cautiously.

"Yeah. Lucky." He gazed off into space, forgetting for a minute that he wasn't alone.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. Bartlett? My gu..gal at home?"

He pulled a gun out from his desk and laid it on the blotter, and I stiffened. He laughed shortly. "I'm not going to shoot you, Ricky. I need you to do something for me."

"You already know I will."

He opened the gun and made sure the barrel was loaded and there was a round in the chamber. "You know George Hally?"

"I've seen him around."

"He's muscling in on my territory. I've got to stop him. I need you to watch my back."

"Why me, Mr. Bartlett?"

"Because you're the only one I can trust not to shoot me in the back."

I could accept that. If he sailed the same side of the lake as I now did, I was probably the only one working for him who wouldn't take a shot at him for it. "When are we doing this?"

He pushed the gun toward me and took another one from the drawer. "Now."

I swallowed hard. "I guess I won't have time to run on home and kiss my sugar good night."

"Afraid not, Rick."

"Oke." I sucked in a deep breath. "Then what are we waiting for?"

We walked out into that snowy night.

****

I stumbled back to the speakeasy, bleeding from the wound in my side. Mr. Bartlett was dead on the steps in front of Our Lady of Lost Souls Church.

George Hally was dead as well. I managed to get off the shot that did him in, but not before he fired at my boss. One of his stooges nicked me in the side, but I got him as well.

I stumbled after Eddie Bartlett and caught him as he fell to the snow-covered sidewalk, cradling him in my arms.

"Ricky. It's curtains for me!"

"No, Boss, no! You're gonna be fine. This is just a scratch!"

"No, kid, this is the finish line for me. Listen carefully." He coughed and a stream of blood trickled from his mouth. "In the wall behind my desk is a safe. The combination is 1 left, 23 right, 99 left. Take what's inside ... and get ... out of ... town."

His sightless eyes stared up into the chill of the night, the snow drifting down onto his face. I passed my fingers over his eyes and closed them, then gently eased him to the concrete.

The shrill whistles of the beat cops tore through the night, and I staggered to my feet and stumbled into a dark alley until they passed me by.

Somehow, I made it back to the 'Garage' and emptied the safe as the boss had requested.

"Mr. Rick!"

"Sam! What are you doing here?"

"I come in early every day to practice."

"Go home, Sam. You're out of work."

"Mr. Bartlett?"

"Dead, Sam. Get out of here!"

"You need some help, Mr. Rick. I'll see you home."

I knew it wasn't a smart idea for him to see where I lived, but I was getting stupid from fatigue and blood loss and the events of the night, and I couldn't remember what the reason was.

He got me back to the rooming house where I shared a room with Victor. The steps seemed higher than Mount McKinley. I pushed away from him and swayed slightly. "Thanks, Sam. I'll see myself in."

"No, Mr. Rick. You need help," he insisted. He got his shoulder under my arm and got me up all those the stairs and down the hall to my room.

Outside the door, I tried to send him away again. He ignored my protests and fished the key from my pocket. The door swung open, and I knew suddenly that there was no one else in there.

I forgot all about the colored boy. "Victor! Victor!" The drawers that held his clothes were open, and empty. I sank on the bed and buried my head in my hands.

"This was on the dresser, Mr. Rick." Sam had lit the lamp and held out a folded slip of paper. "I didn't read it."

I looked at him blankly, then took the paper and smoothed it open.

"Richard," it read. "I have just received word from Czechoslovakia that things are becoming desperate there. I must leave at once, on the tide. I waited for as long as I dared. But you didn't come home. I must go. Je t'aime, cher ami. Victor."

I crumpled the paper and fell back on the bed, losing the battle to stay conscious.

Part 6

China.

Ethiopia.

Spain.

Sam and I had been to so many places over the years that followed that the memories of them started to run together, like a poorly dyed suit in the rain

He patched me up and got me to his place, three steps ahead of the enforcers George Hally's boss sent to rub me out.

I would have shot it out with them. I didn't care; what did I have to live for any longer?

But Sam packed up his belongings and got us on the first boat out of New York harbor. It was heading south, for the Caribbean, but it could just as well have been heading for Sumatra.

By the time we got to Martinique, I was in a little better shape, physically as well as emotionally. I no longer felt that if I hadn't given in to my physical limitations, I could have reached the docks in time to see my lover one last time before he sailed on the tide.

I no longer thought of him every minute of every day.

We bought a beat up old boat and took on fishing charters. And we began to do a little smuggling on the side. Rum from Curacao and Trinidad, Kahlua and Blue Agave from Mexico, the rotgut that Cuba produced, Sam and I ran them all to the Florida Keys and delivered them to some of the bootlegging contacts I got from a slip of paper in Eddie Bartlett's safe.

Then we started smuggling human cargo as well, getting them off the tiny islands that dotted the Caribbean and to safety in South or Central America.

And when it got too hot for us there, we moved on.

To China, where we battled with Chiang Chai-Shek against the Communists.

To Ethiopia, where we ran guns to the natives in their rebellion against Mussolini's army.

To Spain, where we fought on the side of the Loyalists.

And always, Sam was by my side. And the memory of Victor Lazlo became bittersweet. Now I only thought of him once a day.

Every day.

All day long.

****

It was my idea to go to Paris.

The Nazis were massing at the boarder, and I had heard the Gestapo had a little list, with my name on it. So I spent my days sipping Absinthe in La Belle Aurore, a small cafe in Monmartre, while Sam earned some extra francs playing there in the evenings.

He had come across some new music from the States, and he was practicing it that afternoon.

"You must remember this...

"A kiss is just a kiss..."

And then she walked in.

Tall for a woman, slender, with an aura of sadness about her. And a nose that made me catch my breath. I sat there with my drink halfway to my mouth, and just watched.

Her walk was elegant, the brown shirtwaist she wore rippling around her knees. "Gin and bitters, Henri."

"Mais oui, mademoiselle."

I sauntered over to the bar. "Henri's been holding out on me," I remarked casually.

She ignored me.

"He never mentioned a dish as lovely as you frequenting his establishment." I was nothing if not persistent.

"I don't think she wants to know you, Mr. Rick." Sam was grinning at me.

"Sam, why do I keep you around, when I can replace you with a puppy?"

Something caught her attention. Her eyes flickered from me to Sam and back again. I took that as encouragement and extended my hand. "I'm Rick Blaine. That's Sam over there, but you needn't pay any attention to him.

"Rick? This is short for Richard?"

"Why, yes, but all my friends call me Rick." Some of the light went out of the day, as I recalled the one who never called me Rick.

She seemed to make up her mind, and placed her slender hand in mine. "I am Ilsa Lund."

Henri set her drink before her, but before he could take her francs, I put a hand over them and pushed some coins in his direction.

She picked up her drink and toasted me with it. "Skal."

"Na zdorovie."

She swallowed wrong and began to cough. "You speak Russian?" she gasped out.

"You recognize Russian?"

"I am Scandinavian. Russia is right next door to us."

"Ah. Perhaps you'll let me buy you another drink, and you can tell me what a lovely woman such as yourself is doing..."

"Oh, please!" she cut me off. "Don't ask what I am doing in a place like this!"

"Well, no," I responded mildly. "I was just going to ask what you were doing in Paris, with the Germans getting ready to come knocking on Vichy's door."

She flushed and bit her lip. "I beg your pardon."

"Not at all. These are trying times. If you don't want another drink, then perhaps I can buy you dinner. Henri is sure to know of someplace nearby where they serve a decent hamburger."

"You're very bourgeois, Mr. Blaine."

"Yeah, I know. And please, call me Rick."

"Rick." She seemed to roll it around on her tongue. "No, you do not appear to be a 'Rick.' I believe I will call you Richard."

This time it was I who choked on my drink.

Part 7

"You goin' to see Miss Ilsa again today, boss?"

I examined the knot of my tie in the mirror and then gave it a brief tug to the left. "Yes, I think I am, Sam. She's a honey, isn't she?"

"She sure is. I'm glad you're getting over ... what you're getting over."

I went still. *Was* I finally getting over Victor Lazlo? After all these years?

Oh, don't get me wrong, I was no choirboy. I enjoyed watching a shapely ass. Sometimes I'd even do more than watch. But we were never long enough in one place for me to form a lasting relationship.

That was just an excuse, though. I knew it. So did Sam. That's why I don't drink whiskey anymore: I'm a maudlin drunk. One night while we drifted in the warm blue seas of the Caribbean in our boat, the Caribbean Queen, I got snockered and spilled out the pathetic story of my one and only venture into love.

"You were there at the finish, Sam," I said when I finally reached the end of my tale. "By the time I got home that night, he was gone."

"I envy you, Mr. Rick," Sam told me. "I'd give my right arm to have a love like that!"

"No, you wouldn't, Sam. It hurts too much!"

"You hurt, boss, you know you're alive. Maybe someday, *I'll* love someone like that."

"I wouldn't wish that on you, pal. It's bad news!"

Sam just shook his head. "Maybe someone'll love *me* like that!" He cast out another line, and gave me a sly glance. Humming softly, he began to sing,

"Poor Butterfly, 'neath the blossoms waiting.

"Poor Butterfly, for he love him so...

"But if he don't come back, then I never sigh or cry.

"I just might die. Poor Butterfly."

I threw my boot at him and he laughed. And then a sailfish hit my line and nearly took me overboard, and we never spoke of it again.

****

Sam wanted me to fall in love again. And it looked as if there might be a good possibility of that with Ilsa Lund. There was something about her that drew me, more than anyone since Victor Lazlo. For the first time in longer than I cared to think about, I found myself whistling as I went through my day.

I would meet her at La Belle Aurore in the late afternoon, and we'd sip cocktails and listen to Sam as he played Gershwin and Porter. And I wondered what it would be like to fall in love with a woman this time.

****

Sam was late getting to work that day. I wasn't too concerned; I was pretty sure that he had finally found that love he was searching for, with a Russian expatriate named Sasha, whom I occasionally glimpsed.

But when he bolted into the cafe, he was as pale as I've ever seen a colored person get. I was half out of my chair when he grabbed my arm.

"You got to leave town, boss. Word just came over the radio. The Germans will be crossing the border tomorrow. They'll be in Paris by the end of the week at the latest!"

Ilsa turned to me and I suddenly held an armful of shivering woman. "I'm frightened, Richard! I'm so frightened!"

I tipped her head up and looked into her velvety soft eyes. "There, now. Here's looking at you, kid!" For the first time, I kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm and trembled under mine.

"Take me home, Richard. Please!"

"Sure, kid. Sure. Sam, we'd better get out of France. Go to the Gare de Lyon. See about getting us tickets for the train to Marseilles."

"Three, boss?"

I nodded, then changed my mind as stray curls caressed my cheek.

"Make it four, Sam. See if Sasha wants to join our merry band."

Henri, the owner of La Belle Aurore was swearing colorfully behind the bar. "Nom d'un nom d'un nom!" he concluded.

Ilsa gave a little spurt of laughter against my shoulder. "I could never understand how *name of a name* could be considered a curse."

"That's the frog-eaters for you, Butterfly. Let's go!"

"M'sieur Rick, a moment, s'il vous plait!" Henri thrust a bottle of champagne into my hands. "Please, take this. I will water my garden with it before I let those lousy Gerries have one drop!"

"Thanks, Henri. We'll be back for more later."

He waved us off and I managed to hail one of the few cabs that were available. We sat in white- knuckled silence as the driver took the road to her apartment in typical Parisian cabdriver fashion.

Ilsa's apartment was in La Villette district and we arrived there more quickly than normal, but this one time saw no reason to complain.

She got out of the cab ahead of me, and I followed her up the narrow stairway that ran along the outside of the pension to her tiny apartment on the top floor. Her hips moved smoothly, with scarcely a wiggle, and I was drawn to the taut, boyish flanks that were level with my field of sight.

My mouth went dry. I wanted to fondle them, explore them, part her buttocks and lose myself in the wonder of them. I hadn't felt that heart-stuttering emotion in...too many years. I struggled to bring my quivering prick under control, as she slid her key in the lock and let us into her rooms.

I kicked the door shut, took the key from her fingers and tossed it on a convenient stand that held some flowering plants. Ilsa bent to retrieve a sealed envelope from the floor and dropped it next to the key.

She flowed into my arms and her mouth was on mine, her lips parting to accept my questing tongue.

I tried to be slow, to be gentle, but it was what neither of us wanted.

"Richard, *please*!"

Her fingers were busy with my shirtfront, pushing aside the material, smoothing up under my sleeveless undershirt. I muffled a groan as she ran her nails across my flat nipples.

"Richard!" she murmured plaintively, and I started out of my haze of pleasure, realizing I was letting her do all the work. I undid the fastenings of her skirt and allowed my hands to follow it down and off her hips. My fingers lingered at her knees as the skirt pooled on the floor around her feet.

Her legs were bare. She wore no stockings. Or bloomers. My breath snagged in my throat as I stroked back up her thighs and I found the heart of her, so hot, and wet, and slick.

I dropped to my knees and pressed my face to her humid curls. She shuddered as my tongue teased past her guardian folds and caressed the erect little nub that contained such exquisite sensation.

Her fingers were wound in my hair, urging me closer to her heat. "Love me, Richard! Love me now!"

I surged back up to my feet and took her into arms that held on too tightly, but she didn't complain. In fact she held me just as tightly. We stripped off the rest of our clothes and tumbled onto the bed.

Ilsa pushed me flat on my back and straddled my hips. Starting at my jaw, she pressed kisses to my fevered flesh. She worked her way down to my collarbone, and left love bites in the thin skin. Her nimble tongue teased my nipples, and my fingers clenched impotently as she drove me wild.

Scooting lower down, she explored my navel and then the wiry hair at my groin. And when she finally took me in her mouth, I nearly came off the bed from the sensation. She worked my prick as if it was a sweet that she just couldn't get enough of.

"Ilsa, please! I'm going to come!"

"Richard, let me..."

Before I knew what she was doing, she had crouched over me and was lowering herself onto my turgid length.

But my prick was pressing urgently against her snug asshole, and before I could change the position, I felt the ring of muscle give, and I slid into her.

I was lost in the feel of being in an ass again, after all the barren years, and it only took a couple of hard thrusts before I was spilling myself in her tight channel. I squeezed and rubbed and scraped that tiny knot of flesh between her thighs, and felt her inner muscles begin to ripple with her orgasm.

She collapsed on my chest, her climax milking the last of my come from me, her breath sobbing out.

It had been a long time since I had done that, but not so long that I didn't recognize the feel of a lubricant easing my way in. "You had planned on this, hadn't you, Ilsa?" I asked quietly. "Who taught you to go Greek?"

"Did I please you, Richard? Did you like what I let you do to me?"

I nodded my head.

"Life is too short, especially in these hazardous times. Don't question my gift to you."

My softened prick slid free and she rose to her feet, just the slightest bit unsteady.

"Ilsa..."

"I'm going to get cleaned up. Why don't you get us a couple of glasses from the kitchen and we'll start on Henri's champagne."

"Will we do this again?" I asked cautiously.

Her smile was soft, and just the tiniest bit teasing. "If you so desire, Richard." I heard the water running when I returned with the glasses of champagne. I set them down on her dresser, and walked casually around her room, trying to get a feel for the essence of the woman who was picking the lock of my heart.

Draped over a chair was a man's vest that looked vaguely familiar. Before I could examine it more closely, Ilsa came back into the room, her skin rosy and flushed. She picked up her wine and smiled flirtatiously at me.

"Here's looking at *you, Richard*!"

Part 8

I was sipping the last of the champagne off Ilsa's petal-soft skin, my hand busy between her thighs. She shifted languidly.

"No more, Richard, please! I'm so tired!"

I waited until she reluctantly opened her eyes to look at me. Then I brought my fingers to my mouth and licked them off, one by one, and she moaned.

"That is not fair, Richard!"

"All right, Butterfly." I was inordinately pleased with myself, and leaned over to snatch a quick kiss. "I'll let you be. I need to get back to my apartment and make sure Sam's packed everything. Get your things together and meet us at the Gare de Lyon."

I dragged on my clothes and slid into my jacket. She caught my sleeve and pulled me down to her. Her lips caressed mine. "Kiss me, Richard. Kiss me as if it were the last time!"

Lost in a fog of Cupids and valentines, I didn't realize it at the time, but there was desperation in that kiss.

****

I didn't really need to check on Sam. We had been together for such a long time that I trusted him to have everything ready for a quick getaway. And we always traveled light. We had had to make tracks fast too many times to be caught unprepared.

What I needed was to find out how soon Ilsa and I could be married, and who could marry us. I was willing to enlist someone on our journey south. I figured if a ship's captain could do it on the sea, then why not the train's engineer on dry land?

I had to laugh at how nonsensical I was being. I was almost giddy with the joy of being in love.

****

Sam wasn't in the apartment when I got there, but the Russian was. I pulled up short.

"Sascha."

"M'sieur Rick." He looked at me uneasily.

"Sam not back yet?"

"No, M'sieur Rick. He go to get the train tickets. He get one for me too," he said defiantly and waited for my response.

I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to the Russian. He shook his head. I took one for myself and lit it.

"I take it you're coming to Marseilles with us."

"If you don't mind, M'sieur?"

"That's got nothing to do with me, Sascha. I'm not the one you're going to be sleeping with."

He looked green, and my hands curled into fists. I was ready to tear him apart. "Have you been toying with Sam? If you aren't serious about him, I swear to God I'll rip out your heart and hold it in front of your eyes so you can watch it beating! He's a good man and doesn't deserve to be fucked with!"

"You...do not object to me taking Sam from you?"

I opened my mouth to make a scathing retort when I caught myself. Had Sam told the Russian we were lovers, perhaps to make him jealous? I scowled at Sascha.

He touched my arm hesitantly. "M'sieur Rick, I must know if you object to Sam being with me."

"Just don't hurt him!"

Sam came bustling through the door. Ignoring me completely, he took Sascha in his arms and kissed him passionately. Then he let him go. "Oh, hi, boss." He pulled out the tickets and waved them before me. "Got 'em!"

"He coming with us?" I nodded toward the Russian.

Sam's smile was sweet and filled with satisfaction. "He's a good bartender, boss. I figure maybe we'll get us a saloon somewhere, like we used to talk about, and settle down. Be nice to live a quiet life for a while, don'cha think?"

"Yeah, Sam, it'll be swell. Now let's get out of here before Hitler's storm troopers show up sooner than we expected."

Sascha took the bags and headed down to where the private car Sam had commandeered waited. I caught Sam's eye and signaled for him to remain behind.

"What, boss?"

"Why did Sascha feel it was necessary to ask for your hand?"

Sam blushed. It was hard to tell with his dark skin, but a tinge of red colored his cheeks. He ducked his head. "Sascha just sort of thought there might be something between us."

"And you didn't encourage him to believe that?"

His dark eyes watched me from under his lashes. "Well...I didn't exactly say no."

I snorted and clouted him on the arm. "I don't want Miss Ilsa to even *think* there was ever anything like that between us!"

"You going to marry her, Mr. Rick?"

"Yeah." I contemplated the thought of spending the rest of my life with the Scandinavian beauty. "Yeah, I kinda think I am!"

****

It was raining by the time we got to the Gare de Lyon, a steady, dismal drizzle that threatened to become a downpour. The train station was mobbed with people desperate to make their way south, away from the menace of the approaching Nazis.

Sam saw how fidgety I was getting, constantly pulling out my pocket watch and checking it against the big clock in the station. "I'll take the car to her pension, Mr. Rick, and see what's holding her up, okay?"

"Thanks, Sam." I continued pacing as he hurried away.

Ilsa was cutting it extremely fine. The last train would be leaving for Marseilles sooner than I liked.

Sascha was getting nervous as well. He took a cigarette from me and smoked it halfway down before requesting another. Soon he stood there with a cigarette in each hand and one dangling from his mouth.

"Okay, Tolstoy, let me take that," I said as I relieved him of the one in his left hand. I began smoking it myself, only then realizing that I was now holding two cigarettes.

We grinned sheepishly at each other.

I looked at my watch again, and saw that we only had a couple of minutes before train time. I swallowed hard and prepared to head back to the city. And then Sam was shouldering his way through the crowd.

He was alone.

"Where is she, Sam? What happened?"

"She's gone, Mr. Rick. She checked out of her rooms before I got there. The old lady who ran the place gave me this."

I opened the note and felt as if I had been kicked in the gut by a mule. She couldn't go with me, and I must never ask why. But I had to trust that she loved me, would spend her life loving me. "God bless and keep you, my only one!"

Blindly I looked at Sam. Standing there in the rain, I was alone once again, holding the note from Ilsa, just as I had once held a note from Victor.

Sam grabbed my arm and started dragging me into the train, as the conductor issued the last call. "Come on, Mr. Rick. We got to get on this train! *Mr. Rick*!"

He and Sascha got me on board and I stood in the entranceway, staring through the rain, which had become a deluge. I blinked as the water hit my eyes and my lashes spiked.

My hand closed on the note she left me, crumpling the rain-soaked paper, and I tossed it to the platform.

Then I turned and let them lead me to the compartment I had planned to share with Ilsa Lund.

Part 9

Marseilles to Oran.

Oran to French Morocco.

Across French Morocco to...Casablanca.

****

It was one of those bright, sunny days, when the light is so pure and piercing it hurts the eye. The palms in the courtyard afforded a meager amount of shade, only a token's worth. The fronds hung in the still air, motionless, as if too enervated by the heat to do anything more.

I sat under one of the Palmyra palms. My chair balanced on two legs, my feet propped on a table, I was sipping at some fruity, alcoholic concoction that Sascha had devised to cheer me. Sam sat nearby at his rolling piano, tinkering with a tune a visitor from the States had given him in trade for some hauntingly sweet melody the Yank could weep over.

"Though I'm left without a penny,

"The wolf was not smart, he left me my heart.

"And so, I cannot go for anything but the la belle,

"La perfectly swell romance, never gonna dance...

"Never gonna dance..."

"That's a shappy shong, Sham."

"You drunk, boss?"

"No, it's a fucking lisp!" I drew in a deep breath. "How long has it been, Sam?" I held my drink up and examined the muted orange color studiously.

Sam didn't pretend not to understand me. He sighed and ran a riff over the keys. "It's a year, boss."

My eyes felt hot and burning. "Just a year. Just one goddamned year. It should be so much longer."

Desolate, I considered the rest of the liquor in my glass.

Sam put his bench on top of the piano and prepared to roll it back into the main lounge of the Cafe Americain. "I'm gonna get you some coffee, Mr. Rick. We gonna be opening in a few hours. Won't do for you to be too drunk to keep out the deadbeats."

"You mean like that German banker?"

"No. I have the unhappy feeling he means *me*, Ricky. Sam does not like me, I'm afraid."

I stopped myself from spilling the drink down my front, but only just. "Fuck you, Renault!"

"Oh, *yes*, please, Ricky!"

My chair teetered for a moment, almost toppling, then settled on the tiled floor with a thud. I searched the Prefect of Police's brown eyes. They returned my gaze blandly, and I shook my head, deciding I must not have heard what I thought I had heard.

"What can I do for you, Louie?"

He huffed and took a seat next to me, stripping off his dress gloves and dropping them on the table. Fussily he toyed with the knife-crease in his uniform trousers. "You know I hate when you call me that, Ricky."

I arched an eyebrow at him. He knew that as much as *he* hated being called Louie, *I* hated being called Ricky. Sounded like a fucking drink!

He relented with a laugh. "Oh, *very* well. *Rick*. I'm bringing a young lady here tonight, and I would appreciate it very much if you wouldn't make a pass at her."

"Come on, Lou--is." I grinned at him. "You know very well we don't have the same taste in dames."

He winced. "She's not a *dame*, Rick. And she may not be to your taste, but *you'll* be to hers!" His eyes swept over me, seeming to linger just below my waist.

I blinked to clear my vision, and his eyes were steadily on mine. I shook my head again.

"Oh yes," he continued mournfully. "I don't know what it is about you, Rick..."

I could hear how much he wanted to add the *y*, but the look in my eye must have threatened dire retribution.

He didn't smile, but I knew there was one hidden deep inside him.

"I'm just a simple saloonkeeper," I told him.

"Whatever the many things you might be, Rick, *simple* is not one of them!"

"A compliment, Louis? I'm gratified."

"You needn't be. It wasn't meant as one." He waved the conversation aside as inconsequential. "Just stay away for an hour or so, that's all I'm asking. If she gets one look at you, she'll fall madly in love, and I won't have a warm bed in which to spend the night."

I shook out a cigarette and offered the pack to the Chief of Police. He declined with a smirk and withdrew one of the slim Egyptian cigarettes he preferred from a breast pocket.

"Where am I to spend a couple of hours, Renault? The Blue Parrot? Ferrari would like to slit my throat for getting the Cafe before he could make his move."

"Spend it with Yvonne. She's quite lovely, you know, and very...talented, shall we say?"

The smoke of our cigarettes hung between us, giving me the opportunity to examine his compact frame. His trousers clung to his muscled thighs snugly, and his jacket discretely draped over his lap. I was struck by a sudden desire to see what it hid.

I turned my head away and took the cigarette from my lips. I touched a finger to my tongue, seeking the flake of tobacco that clung to it. That unexpected desire shook me.

"Have you taken to pimping for Yvonne, Louie?"

"You disappoint me, Rick." I opened my mouth but he cut me off. "And yet, if I were a woman, I would be madly in love with you myself. If *I* were not around, of course."

"You know, Louis, that halfway makes sense! All right, I apologize for the insult to Yvonne. I meant to strike at you, not at her."

"But why, Rick?"

I contemplated the glowing tip of my cigarette. "Let's just say I have no use for a crooked cop, and leave it at that."

"Don't you like me, Rick?" For a moment his mask dropped and hunger burned in his eyes. And then his lashes lowered and he resumed his air of casual venality. "I have to make a living, Richard. God knows the French government doesn't pay me enough to indulge even my simplest vices."

I was on my feet, almost shaking in rage. "Don't. Ever. Call. Me. *Richard*!"

He became very quiet. Then he gathered up his gloves and rose gracefully. "Of course. I beg your pardon. Rick." He turned to leave, but paused at the door that led to the street, not looking back at me. "You'll give me those two hours?" He was regarding his hands as he smoothed the gloves over each finger.

I hated when I lost control. Only two people had ever called me Richard. I had loved them both, and they had both left me.

Louie didn't deserve the sharp edge of my tongue, though. Reluctantly I conceded the match to him. "Come in around ten. But if you're still here at midnight, you'll just have to take your chances."

I was no longer watching him. I jumped when I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Thank you, Rick," he said softly. And then, "Just let me know if there's ever anything I can do for you."

He was halfway out the door before I could catch my breath. The skin under my shirt burned from the heat of his touch.

"How about asking for a smaller bribe?" I called after him.

"Anything but that, my dear Rick!" His laughter drifted back to the courtyard.

And I had to adjust my trousers, which had suddenly become too tight.

Part 10

I was going over the books in my office, and I had left the door ajar. No one was supposed to be in the Cafe Americain at this time of day. I reveled in the quiet of the early afternoon.

In a couple of hours Carl, a former professor of the classics from Heidelberg, would come in. He ran the restaurant aspect of my business and kept it nicely in the black.

Emil, my head croupier, handled the gambling. He was away on a trip to see his family in Corsica, and perhaps talk them into coming back with him. German sympathizers were cropping up all over the place, and it might not be safe for them to remain there much longer.

A headache was nagging behind my eyes. I hadn't been sleeping well. I was used to the dreams of the two lovers who had broken my heart, but now I dreamt of a brown-eyed Frenchman who was corrupt to the bone. And at night, when all my defenses were down, I found that irresistible.

I chewed on the end of my pen and gazed off into space, lost in a haze of...something. I was not willing to consider it too closely.

There was hushed whispering out in the corridor. "*Do it*, Sam! Please!"

"Sascha!" Murmurs thickened by passion slid past the door and went right to my groin. I had had no male lovers since...

I looked down at my crotch, where my prick tented my trousers.

A muffled thud painted pictures of impassioned lovers straining against the wall outside my door, of hands held prisoner and lush lips capturing heated moans.

I groaned under my breath and pushed my chair back, quietly going to the door and closing it. Sam and Sascha. The piano player and the bartender. I didn't have the heart to interrupt their
embrace.

But I envied them!

****

I was lost in the most marvelous fantasy. The Prefect of the Casablanca Police was on his knees beneath my desk, licking a path from my quivering erection to my navel. That wasn't where I wanted his tongue, though. I groaned and rolled my hips up, seeking to thrust deeply into that hot, wicked mouth.

But it was my hand tightening on my prick. I brought myself to a shuddering orgasm.

How long had I sat there, rubbing the hardness in my trousers? My pants were sticky and uncomfortable. I was about to rise and make my way to the rooms above the cafe.

"Herr Rick? Herr *Rick*!" My headwaiter beat an urgent tattoo on the door.

I sank back into my chair and stayed seated behind the desk. "Come in, Carl."

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Herr Rick, but Captain Renault is outside, and he insists on seeing you."

Oh shit! And here I sat with a lapful of come! I pulled a face. "What does he want, Carl?" Perhaps the little Austrian could hold him off long enough for me to change my trousers.

"I'll tell you what I want, Ricky."

I folded my lips together and tried not to shift too obviously in my chair. Carl looked distressed at not having shielded me from the importunate Frenchman. "It's okay, Carl. Why don't you go
ahead and interview that Dutch banker who wants the job of pastry chef?"

"Sure, Herr Rick. I see if he's as good in the kitchen as he claims he was in his bank!" He went bustling out of my office, quietly closing the door behind him.

I determined to out-wait the man who stood, negligently stroking his fingers over the discrete nude that graced a table by the window. I had found the little bronze in Oran, just before we
boarded the boat to French Morocco, and bought it on a whim. Her curves concealed by the long, flowing waves of her hair, her averted face shielded by her upraised arms, she represented what I kept hidden from the world. And myself.

After a few minutes, I reached for the bottle of Vichy water that my staff always made sure was nearby during the daylight hours.

A thought struck me, and casually I knocked my hand against the glass, spilling it onto my thighs. "*Merde*!"

"You seem to be all thumbs today, Rick."

"Yeah, well, you know some days are like that! You'll excuse me for just a moment while I go and change my pants?" I eased to my feet and shook the water from my lap.

"Suppose I accompany you, dear Ricky?"

"You...want to come up to my room?" I risked a glance at him.

"Oh, not in the manner of Mae West, I assure you." His eyes laughed at me as he noticed my disgruntled frown. "Or perhaps...in exactly that manner?"

"You're a card, Louie." I turned my back sharply and went up the stairs that led to my rooms. "I'm not going to run away, you know. What did you want to see me about?"

I pulled open a large closet against the inner wall and took out a hanger that held a pair of casual pants. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slipped off my shoes and then stood and stripped off my soaking trousers.

"Do I know that?" he asked himself pensively. "What would you do if I said I wanted to kiss you, Rick?"

I almost fell on my ass. My lips suddenly felt full and tingly, and I *wanted* his mouth on mine.

"I'd probably knock you down that flight of stairs. You're a notorious womanizer, Louie. And the last time I looked, I was the wrong sex."

"Of course." That was all he said. No words to excuse his outrageous question. No obfuscations or flimsy explanations. He just dismissed it and went on to other matters.

And I didn't know if I should be relieved or disappointed.

"The Vichy government is starting to get curious as to how I run things here in Casablanca."

"Why do I get the feeling this is going to wind up being expensive for me?"

"Not at all, Ricky. I am here to tell you that I will no longer be collecting a weekly...donation from you."

"Oh, I don't think this is going to be good for me, or the Cafe Americain. What am I going to be paying you, Louie?"

"Nothing at all, my dear Rick. You will just let me win at roulette."

I swore under my breath. Renault liked the roulette wheel too much. He'd be taking me for much more than the three hundred francs I had been paying him off.

"And..."

"There's more?" I asked wearily.

The bastard smiled at me and nodded. "You will tear up all my vowals and all my bar bills."

"Why don't you just sink your teeth into my throat and drain me dry, while you're at it? Bloodsucker!"

His eyes suddenly grew hot and sultry.

I wanted to hear him say, "Your blood is not what I want to suck, Ricky!" I could picture him down on his knees before me, taking my hardened prick from my trousers and licking the tip before swallowing me to the base.

I blinked and shook my head, and returned to the real world.

"Oh, I would like that, Ricky. I'd like that *very* much! However," and now he was all business once again, "that would be like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs."

I finished fastening my trousers and stepped into my shoes, and looked up to find his eyes on my crotch. "Louie..."

His brown eyes dragged up over my body in a gesture I could almost feel. And damned if my prick didn't harden in serious interest.

He turned away and headed for the stairs, waving casually. "I must be going. I'll be in later tonight, with a very lovely blonde. I'd be *most* grateful if she lost!"

I ran my hand over my hair and went to pour myself a drink.

****

That night, with the Prefect of Police in the gambling room with his blonde, I stood next to the piano as Sam played.

"You are here, so am I.

"Maybe millions of people go by,

"But they all disappear from view.

"And I only have eyes for you."

And I watched that door.

Part 11

"Rick!"

I stiffened, then determined to ignore the persistent whisper.

"*Rick*!"

My shoulders slumped. He wasn't going to go away.

Wondering how my name, which had no esses, could sound so sibilant, I turned to face the oily black marketeer.

"Oh, hullo, Ugarte. Was there something you wanted?" I could have winced. Poor choice of words.

His black, olive pit eyes lit up. "Oh *yes*, Rick! I thought you would never come around to my way of thinking!"

"Excuse me?" I asked cautiously as I lit a cigarette. "And just how did you assume I had done that?"

"You asked if there was something I wanted! *You*, Rick! I want *you*!"

Idly I regarded the fist my right hand had folded into. "Ugarte, if you were the last man on the face of the earth, and my only hope of living just one more day was to let you fuck me, I would
not want you!"

The little man's face fell. But then he brightened once more. "Suppose I let *you* fuck *me*, Rick? Would that be more acceptable to you?"

I leaned close enough to smell the odor of the poppy petals he loved to chew. "Ugarte..."

He interrupted me, seizing my arm. "Don't tell me you're not like that, Rick. I see the way you look at our gallant Prefect of Police!"

I made my face blank. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ugarte. And I have a business to run."

"You really don't like me at all, do you, Rick?" For a second he looked as if he might cry. "You despise me?"

I contemplated the glowing tip of my cigarette. "If I gave you any thought at all, I probably would."

"But why, Rick? I provide a service here in Casablanca, just as Ferrari does."

"But Ferrari has a kind of style you have to admire. He may charge all the market can bear, but at least he isn't a cut-rate parasite!" I looked at the little man in his slightly soiled white suit. Pointedly glancing down to where his fingers were pressing tightly around my arm, I said, "Now take your hand off me, Ugarte. If you'd like to play at one of the tables, then I suggest you go on into the gambling room. Otherwise, I am not open to any of your slimy invitations."

I shook free of him and he met the look in my eyes.

Ugarte's eyes widened as he backed away, and then scurried around me and disappeared through the door Abdul, my best bouncer, guarded.

"You okay, boss?" Sam paused beside me. He was concerned.

I knew what he was concerned about, and it was only partly to do with Ugarte. It had been three years since Paris. "I think I need a very hot bath. I can feel his touch all over my body, to the bottom of my soul!"

A warm breath washed over the back of my neck.

"Oh? Should I be jealous, Ricky?"

My eyes slid shut. I wanted to lean back onto that compact frame, letting him support my weight. When I opened my eyes again, Sam was grinning like an idiot, and I struggled to wipe the sappy smile off my face and get myself under control.

I licked my lips, then glanced over my shoulder at the Chief of Police. "Haven't you anything better to do than creep up on me, Louie?" I asked shortly. "One of these days you're going to get me nervous, and I just might shoot you."

He stood very close to me. "Would you shoot me, Rick?"

"Count on it!" I snapped.

Captain Renault stepped back a pace and began peeling off his kid gloves. "Are you trying to frighten me, Ricky?"

"Could I?" I wondered.

He sent my own words back to me. "Count on it!"

He turned to go into the other room, and I felt a twinge of disappointment. I enjoyed sparring with Louis Renault, and I didn't want our war of words to stop. He paused at the door and looked back at me. "Oh, Ricky." His velvet brown eyes were alight with humor. "You *do* know I am an inveterate liar, don't you?"

Abdul opened the door. An ocean of sound seemed to flow out and then ebb as it drew him out of my sight into the smoke-filled room. I sighed.

Sam had his piano set up and accepted a drink from one of our regular patrons. "Got anything new, Sam?"

"Well, it's new to Casablanca, Mr. Hemingway." His teeth shone whitely in his dark face and he began to sing.

"It had to be you, it had to be you.

"I wandered around and finally found somebody who...

"Could make me be true, could make me feel blue.

"And even be glad, just to be sad, thinkin' of you..."

Sam caught my eye and looked stricken. He turned as pale as a colored boy could and his fingers crashed to the keys in a discordant jangle. He downed a gulp of his drink, and then began banging out another tune.

"Though my hair is curly..." He ran his hand over his slicked down hair.

"Though my teeth are pearly..." He flashed a mouthful of teeth in a nervous grin.

I shook my head and walked to the bar, motioning for Sascha to pour me a drink. Yvonne was sitting with her back to me, but I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she knew I was there. "Where were you last night, Rick?" she asked softly.

"That was so long ago I can't remember." I signed a chit that Emil brought to me and spoke quietly of a pickpocket who was making the rounds of the nightspots.

Yvonne turned, her mouth taking on a bitter twist. "Will I see you tonight?"

"I never make plans that far in advance."

Tears began to roll down her face. "Sascha! Pour me another drink!"

"You've had enough, 'Vonne. You had best go home now," I told her.

"How dare you tell me what to do!" The anger I knew was lurking beneath the surface erupted. She struck out at me.

My fingers closed around her wrist and I jerked her toward me and off her seat. "Let's get your coat, darling. It's time for you to go home."

She suddenly seemed to cave in on herself. "Oh, what a fool I was to fall for a man like you!" She wept.

"Sascha, get a cab."

The bartender had been watching the theatrics with interest.

"Sascha, no!" Yvonne batted her tear-drenched lashes at him, unaware that his interest lay elsewhere.

He grinned at her. "Yvonne, I love you, but Rick pays the bills!"

We followed him out to the street. "See her home, Sascha."

He looked glum. "Yes, boss." He thought I wanted him to baby-sit my former lover.

"And come right back!"

That cheered him up. "*Yes* boss!" He climbed in after her and the cab sped away.

"Ricky, Ricky, beautiful women are not so plentiful that they can be tossed away!"

"Jesus, Renault! Stop sneaking up on me like that!"

"You're a little jumpy tonight, Rick. Why is that, I wonder?"

"Go fuck yourself, Louie!"

He patted my cheek. "I have a better idea, Ricky." I held my breath, but then he said, "I think I'll pay a call on the lovely Yvonne and see if she'll be interested in renewing our friendship."

"Bastard!" The Chief of Police laughed and raised his hand. One of his men whipped his car around and he got in, waving a casual goodnight to me.

I gritted my teeth. Why was I feeling jealous, all of a sudden? And not that Louie would have Yvonne, but that Yvonne would have Louie! I spat out a curse and went back into the Cafe.

****

"Umm, boss?"

"Yeah, Sam?" The Cafe Americain had closed for the night and I was helping with the clean up. Carl and Sascha had gone to a meeting of the underground, which had been starting to make itself felt here in Casablanca.

"You upset cause I played that song?"

I looked blank.

"It Had to Be You?" he reminded me.

"Is that why you got your gut in a knot? Sam, you can sing any song you want, as long as it isn't As Time Goes By. Don't ever play *that* song again!"

He sighed in relief and turned to go back to his piano. He'd practice some new songs rather than retire to his quarters on the upper story of the cafe. Sam didn't have a political bone in his body, but he'd let his lover follow whatever doctrine he chose.

And he'd wait up until Sascha was safely back.

I locked the front entrance and crossed the floor to the staircase that led up to my living quarters. Abruptly Sam said, "You gonna ask me how long it's been, boss?"

"No, Sam, this year I don't think I will!"

Part 12

The rumbling of the guns of war was growing louder. The flow of refugees trickling into Casablanca, in hopes of eventually making it to Lisbon and from there to the United States, had grown to a flood.

Ferrari did a thriving business in exit visas. Those who couldn't meet his price dealt with Ugarte.

And the ones with beautiful wives dealt with Renault.

At first I had watched in amusement as those desperate men sold their wives' favors for the opportunity to get away from Casablanca. I even had a sneaking sense of pride in the Prefect of Police's smooth manner. His bed was rarely empty.

Unlike mine, which was becoming more and more lonely. None of the women I knew could even tempt me anymore, not even the girl I kept, who had rooms over the Blue Parrot.

I was restless and irritable and...

A gentle hand touched my arm. "M'sieur Rick?"

She was little more than a girl, for all she was dressed as a woman and wore a simple band of some cheap metal on her ring finger. But she was pretty in a sweet, unpretentious way.

I leaned back against the bar. "Yes?"

"Please, may I speak with you?"

I nodded toward the seat next to me. "How did you get in here? You're underage."

"Captain Renault..."

"Ah. I see," I said sourly. It was bothering me more and more that he brought these women to my cafe. They came in hopes of winning enough to bribe him honorably, if such a thing was possible, but the odds were against them. And Renault waited patiently, like a spider at the center of his web, until they fell into his clutches.

I was becoming decidedly melodramatic.

"My husband is with me." It was as if she sensed my disapproval.

"Is he? Then Captain Renault is becoming very broadminded. Would you care for a drink?"

"Oh, no, M'sieur. But please, have one yourself."

I snorted and nodded for Sascha to pour me a brandy. "Well, what can I do for you, Mrs...?"

"Oh please, call me Annina." She chewed on her plump lower lip, and I could see her attraction to Renault. Young, and fresh and... "Please, M'sieur, what kind of man is Captain Renault? I mean, is he trustworthy?"

"Why are you asking *me*, Annina?"

She blushed and looked away. "M'sieur le Capitaine said I should inquire of you..."

I swore under my breath. Louie was dragging me further and further into these little affairs of his, and I was *not* liking it one bit. "Where's your husband?"

"Jan is at the roulette table, trying to win the money for our exit visas, but of course he is losing." Her startlingly blue eyes welled with tears, looking like drowned violets. "We are from Bulgaria, M'sieur Rick. Things there are so very bad! The devil has the people by the throat! And Jan and I, we do not wish our children to grow up in such a place! But we have not much money, and traveling is so expensive..." Her voice broke.

I sighed and took a sip of the brandy.

"Captain Renault says he will give us the exit visas, even though we haven't the money."

"So why do you come to me?" My face had darkened in anger, and I think I frightened the girl. She gasped and looked down in shame.

"I must know...Will he keep his word?"

"He always has."

A tear spilled over. "Then I must do this bad thing," she said hollowly. "I will keep it locked in my heart. But oh, if Jan should find out...He is such a boy! In many ways, I am so much older than he! Would *you* understand, if someone who loved you did such a thing for your happiness?"

"No one's ever loved me that much." I couldn't bear this conversation any longer. "I hope your problem works out."

"Thank you, M'sieur," she said tonelessly.

I got up and left her by the bar, fumbling for a scrap of linen to dry her face. I stopped to have a word with Carl, who was sharing a glass of what appeared to be my finest wine with a plump little Austrian couple. They would be leaving the next morning for Lisbon.

"What watch, sweetness heart?" I heard the little man ask his wife.

She looked at her watch. "Ten watch," she said firmly.

"Such much?" he responded, clearly proud of his grasp of the American vernacular.

"They'll get along well in America, ja, Herr Rick?" Carl murmured encouragingly. I squeezed his shoulder and moved on to the gambling room.

Just to keep an eye on things, I assured myself.

****

He was the youngest one at the table, and I spotted him right away. Emil caught my eye as I strolled around the players, nodding to let me know the house was doing well this evening.

I stopped behind the Bulgarian. He was pale and drops of sweat beaded his upper lip. He had three chips left, and he toyed with them restlessly. I leaned over and spoke in his ear. "Have you tried twenty-two?" I looked at Emil. "Twenty-two, I said."

The boy slid his chips onto the black square and Emil set the wheel to spinning. "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen." He dropped the little silver ball onto the wheel. It bounced and rolled and then settled into a slot. "Vingt et deux," Emil intoned. "Twenty-two."

"Let the chips ride," I said quietly. The boy hesitated for a minute, then took his hands from where they had been hovering protectively around the colorful wooden markers.

Emil looked resigned. "The game continues. All bets placed, mesdames et messieurs." He spun the wheel and spoke the words that ended further betting. "Les jeux son fin!"

Annina came into the room looking desolate, and stood behind her husband. When she saw the neat stack of chips before him, she gave a breathy sob. Louie spotted her, and his lips curled complacently.

Until the subdued excitement at the table drew the Prefect of Police's attention, and he frowned in annoyance when he realized his little bird was about to fly the coop.

I smiled and returned to watching the ball spin dizzily around the wheel. Once again it came to rest in the little black space. "Vingt et deux," Emil pronounced with a sigh. "Vingt et deux."

"Now cash it in, and don't come back here. *Ever*!"

The boy flashed me a grateful smile and scooped up his chips.

I overheard some grumbles about the honesty of my gambling operation, but they were quickly tramped down by my employees. "This place is honest as the day is long!"

Carl offered to bring me a cup of coffee and I thought for a moment he would kiss me. I sidestepped him and paused by Emil.

"How are we doing tonight?"

"A couple of thousand less than I thought," he said dryly. His eyes followed the young couple to the cashier.

Louie was approaching me, and I waited, excitement bubbling in my veins.

"Boss!" Sascha called, hurrying to my side. Carl stood at the doorway, rubbing his hands in satisfaction, happy to be destroying my reputation as a cold, unfeeling businessman. I frowned at him, and then Sascha was throwing himself at me. "Boss, you do a wonderful thing!"

He planted wet kisses on each cheek and I pushed him back. "Get away from me, you crazy Russian! You want Sam to have my hide?"

Laughing, he wiped my face dry and then spoiled the effect by kissing me again. "You a good man, M'sieur Rick!" He hurried back to the bar, beaming.

"As I suspected, Ricky, you're a rank sentimentalist!"

"Yeah, Louie?" I was filled with satisfaction. "Why would you think something as untrue as that?"

"You interfere with my little romances. And I know this was not the first time!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I grinned at him and rocked back and forth on my heels.

"Well, I'll forgive you this time, my dear Rick," he told me good-naturedly. "But if there should be a next time..."

His eyes were fastened on my mouth and he licked his lips, and I was suddenly, embarrassingly, *hard*.

Part 13

I tapped my cigarette against an ashtray and studied the chessboard in front of me. The board, and the pieces on it, waited patiently for me to make the next move, but I had too much on my mind to concentrate. It was early evening, and I was enjoying the last of the summer warmth in the courtyard behind the Cafe Americain. The balmy breeze was like a lover's caress, whispering over my face.

Dismissing the game, I swung my feet up onto the small table and tipped the chair back. I slid down onto the base of my spine, raised my face to the night sky and closed my eyes. The promise of the evening washed over me.

All too soon the rainy season would be upon us, with its fog and damp. The number of planes leaving for Lisbon would become limited, and the desperation of those desirous of leaving Casablanca would grow in proportion.

Captain Renault, our illustrious Chief of Police, would be required to continuously round up even more of the *usual suspects*, who would have committed every crime from the most mundane to the most heinous.

I toyed with the image of Louis Renault, idly wondering what he must look like under those uniforms he had especially tailored. The crease in his trousers was always knife-edged and his collars so stiffly starched, they looked as if they could stand up on their own.

My most recent fantasy was of him coming to me in the dark of the night, after all of Casablanca had closed down, when even the rats and the snakes had faded into their holes.

I could picture him leaning against the door to my rooms, his hands slowly unbuttoning each of those shiny, brass buttons, which had to take his batman at least all morning to bring to such a glossy, untarnished sheen.

My hand reached down to stroke my hardening length through my trousers, tracing the outline, as my mind's eye brought him to me, naked, with shivers of desire rippling his muscles.

I groaned under my breath, and then jerked upright with a start, my daydream interrupted, nearly spilling off my chair.

"Herr Rick, Captain Renault wishes to speak with you!" Carl stood in the doorway, wringing his hands in his apron.

"*Shit*!" I ran a hand over my hair, and smoothed down the front of my clothes. Thankfully, I hadn't reached the point in my daydreams where Louie swallowed me down to the root, and I came in his mouth.

And all over myself.

"My dear Rick! I trust I'm not disturbing you?"

If he only knew! "Of course not, Louie. What can I do for you?"

I swear he looked at me coyly. "I can't come around just to see you for your beaux yeux?"

He thought my eyes were gorgeous? I swallowed my breath wrong and started to cough.

"Sit down, Captain," I was finally able to say. I needed to put some emotional space between us. "Carl, bring us two coffees, please," I called to the waiter as he hovered in the doorway. "Would you like anything in yours, Louie?"

"Perhaps a little creme de cacao, Rick?"

"Isn't it too early for that?"

He waited until Carl had brought us the small cups the Moroccans favored for their dark brew. I had my cup to my lips and was taking a sip when his glance turned sultry. "It's never to early
for...*that*!"

I choked on my coffee. Louie surged to his feet and came to me, pounding on my back.

"Enough! Enough!" I caught my breath and managed to sputter. There were splashes of coffee all over my pale beige jacket and trousers. I regarded them ruefully. "My laundress is *not* going to be pleased with me!"

"Better, Rick?"

"Oh, stop being so fucking solicitous! If you hadn't made such a salacious remark, I never would have swallowed my coffee wrong!"

"*I*? Make a salacious remark? You *must* have me confused with someone else, Ricky!"

"Yeah, and Hitler's going to change his mind about taking London!"

He laughed and returned to his seat.

A plane flew low overhead, and we stared after it.

Pouring a measure of the liqueur into his cup, he observed quietly, "Would you like to be on it, Rick? The plane to Lisbon?"

"Why would I want to go to Lisbon?"

"You could catch the clipper to America," he offered.

I couldn't answer that. Sometimes the longing for home would take me unawares.

He must have seen that in my eyes. "I've often wondered why you don't return to the States. There is nothing to keep you here in Casablanca."

"You're wrong, Louie. There's nothing for me in America. Here there's Sam and Sascha, Carl and Emil and Abdul." *And you*, I added to myself.

"And the Cafe?"

I shrugged. "It's just a business."

"Now that is very telling, my dear Rick. It is not fashionable in Casablanca to care about anything except oneself!" He toyed with the pretty cup before him. "Why *did* you leave? Did you abscond with the church funds? Run off with a politician's wife?"

I shook my head, smiling at the notion of any decent woman letting me get near her.

Although once, one had. My smile faded.

The Chief of Police began to speak more briskly. "*I* like to think you killed a man. It's the romantic in me, I suppose."

My glance was so sharp he actually jerked back in his seat. "What did you do, Rick?" The question was softly insistent, as if his will could force the answer from me.

"There's nothing romantic in killing a man, Louie. You should know that by now! It's messy, and ugly, and..."

"Why did you come to Casablanca, Ricky?"

I sat back and studied the grounds in my coffee cup, once more in control. "For my health."

He looked stunned by my response, and I realized I had finally gotten the advantage of him. Well, well. One horse to me! "I came to Casablanca for the waters," I continued lightly.

"What waters, Rick? We're in the middle of the desert!"

"I was misinformed," I said blandly. I enjoyed baiting him, and I didn't often get the chance.

His face remained expressionless, but the wrinkles around his eyes deepened, and I could see the amusement there. "*I* think you're a romantic yourself, Ricky."

I shook my head. "You must have *me* confused with someone else!"

"No, no! I assure you! For example, in '35 you ran guns to Ethiopia. And in '36 you fought against the Fascists in Spain."

"And was very well paid, both times."

"Yes, but Ricky, the winning side would have paid you so much more!"

I shrugged. He was getting too close to my core. "If you're quite finished, Captain? I do have a business to run."

"Actually, Rick, I just wanted to let you know that I was conferring a great honor upon you. A man will be arrested later tonight in your Cafe."

"*Again*?" Now I was annoyed. "I can easily live without your honors, Louie. Business is always off for days afterwards!"

"Just don't think of warning him."

"Warning who? I stick my neck out for *no one*, Louie!"

He smiled and got to his feet. "I'll be bringing along a very distinguished visitor to our fair city."

I lit another cigarette and looked at him through the smoke. "Oh? Blond or brunette?"

"Actually, Nazi."

Part 14

"Rick!"

I closed my eyes. Sascha leaned over the bar. "You okay, boss? You look like you got a pain."

"I did," I whispered, "and its name is Ugarte!"

Sascha glowered at the other man. The slimy Czech had tried to coerce Sam into his bed. Sascha had been infuriated and forced to resort, not at all unwillingly, to violence.

He stalked to the other end of the bar where Lieutenant Casselle and Captain Tonelli stood. The Frenchman, aide to the Prefect of Police, was talking nonstop. Tonelli, of the Italian service, kept trying to get a word in edgewise, but with no luck.

Sascha poured them their red wine, and turned to glare at Ugarte.

Ugarte ducked his head and touched my arm. "Can I speak with you, Rick? In the other room, please?"

Grudgingly, I led him into the gambling room. He stopped a passing waiter and took a glass of champagne. "Will you have a drink with me, please? Oh, I forgot, you never drink with..."

He licked his lips, then slid a finger under his collar and tugged. "Too bad about those German couriers, isn't it?"

"Is it?" I responded coldly, uncomfortable with being near him. "Yesterday they were just two clerks. Today they're the honored dead."

"Er...yes." He gulped down his drink and seized another. "Well, I...want to show you something, Rick." Ugarte reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim envelope. "Even you have never seen this! Letters of transit, signed by General DeGaulle himself!"

I went still. "I understand those couriers were carrying letters of transit."

"Er, yes. Quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

"I don't suppose they can be rescinded, or questioned?"

He shook his head and hugged them to his chest as if they were his firstborn, as unlikely as that possibility might be.

"Well?" I snarled. "Why do you tell *me* this?"

"I've been in Casablanca for so long," he said, musingly, almost as if he forgot I was there. "I don't know what it will be like in Portugal. But things are getting extremely dangerous for me here." He looked around nervously. "I'll be selling these tonight, and then Casablanca won't see me for my dust!"

"Why did you feel it was necessary to bring these into my place?"

His smile held a tinge of panic. "I neglected to tell you that I would be selling these little beauties here, Rick. Right here, in the Cafe Americain! And I just need you to hold on to them for me."

"Goddamn it, Ugarte, why me? The only reason Renault lets me stay open is that he knows I have nothing to do with that kind of trafficking!"

"Please, Rick. Please!" His fingers clutched my arm painfully. "It's because you despise me so that I feel I can trust you! Keep them for just an hour, perhaps a bit longer, and then I promise you I will be out of Casablanca on tonight's plane, and you'll never see me again!"

Reluctantly, I took the envelope and turned it carefully in my hands, examining the innocuous rectangle from every angle before slipping it into my pocket.

"Thank you, Rick." He turned to make his way toward the baccarat table, then stopped. "I'm sorry you don't like me, Rick, but perhaps you are more impressed with me now? Just a soupcon?" His eyes were feverish, and he took a seat opposite Claude, who was controlling the shoe.

"Yes, Ugarte, you're right. I *am* a little more impressed with you now!"

I left the gambling room, feeling sweat begin to pool under my arms. I was getting a very bad feeling about this.

****

Sam had started his first set of the evening. The spotlight hit him and he sang,

"Say, who's got troubles?"

The spot left Sam to sweep over the band as they sang back at him.

"*We've* got troubles!"

It returned to the colored boy.

"How much trouble?"

I walked over to the piano. There was a stack of music scores lying on it, and I picked them up and thumbed through them.

"Too much trouble!" The band was laughing in the spotlight once more. They loved that song and always got a kick out of playing it.

I took the opportunity to palm the envelope from my pocket in the darkness and slid it beneath the papers and under the piano lid.

"Well, now, don't you frown, just knuckle down

"And knock on wood!"

Sam was watching me with concern in his eyes. "What you doing, Mr. Rick?"

"God only knows, Sam, and I hope that Russian of yours has an 'in' with Him!"

He gulped and pinned a smile on his face as the light hit him one more time.

"Now who's happy...?"

I made my way to the bar, where Tonelli had given up trying to fit a word into the conversation and was instead regarding the Frenchman with something akin to hunger.

"Sascha, let me have..."

The bartender was looking pale. He jerked his head, drawing my attention to a table near the bar, where the owner of the Blue Parrot sat, never once taking his eyes off Sam.

I sighed and took my drink, then went over to the fat man. "Ferrari."

"Hello, Rick. When are you going to sell me your cafe?"

"When Hitler decides to become a Democrat. It's not for sale."

"You haven't heard how much I'm willing to pay."

"I don't care. It's not for sale at any price."

"What about Sam?"

A glass shattered as it fell from Sascha's shaking fingers.

"I don't buy or sell human beings, Ferrari."

"Pity. That's what Casablanca does best. We could make a fortune, we two, in refugees alone!"

"I don't deal in the black market. That's why Louie lets me stay open."

"I want to hire Sam away from you, if you won't sell him to me."

"Go ahead and ask him."

Sam was playing something bouncing, Baby Face, I think. When he looked up at me, worry was even deeper in his eyes. "Can I play something for you, Mr. Rick?"

"Not right now, Sam. Ferrari wants you to work for him at the Blue Parrot."

He smiled in spite of his tension. "I like it here," he said simply.

"He'll pay you three times what I do!"

Ferrari looked disgruntled. That had not been part of his plan.

"That's okay, boss. I ain't got time to spend what I make here!"

The fat man laughed. "Looks like you win this time, Rick." He touched his forehead in the Islamic sign of respect and made his way out of the cafe.

"That man scares me, boss."

"Don't worry, Sam. If you ever have to work for him, I'll make sure you get a honey of a deal." I squeezed his shoulder and looked around. I was about to go out to the kitchen for a bite of dinner when a flash of white caught my eye.

Louis Renault, representative of Unoccupied France. Accompanied by someone else. A curl of jealousy settled in my gut.

Lieutenant Casselle hurried across the floor, the Italian Captain following him like a ship in tow. They stopped at the entrance and snappily saluted.

And I got a better look.

The man, wearing the uniform of an SS officer, stood there, a sneer twisting his lips as he surveyed the people who ate... and drank... and waited... for whatever their fate would bring them in Casablanca.

Part 15

Carl approached me unhappily. "I give him the best table, Herr Rick, knowing that he is German, and would just take it."

"That's fine, Carl," I reassured him. Herr Heinze, the German Consul, was often at my cafe, bringing officials whose only desire was to intimidate. I had a special supply of liquor that I saved especially for those occasions.

Some people never looked past the fancy labels.

Sascha was next, with a check a couple of Germans had used to pay their bar bill. He was almost in tears. I tore the check in two and patted his shoulder. "It's okay, Sascha."

"M'sieur Rick, they will make us go broke!"

"Don't worry about it. You poured out of my private stock?"

He nodded.

"And they were none the wiser?" I smiled, a small, satisfied smile. That cheered him a bit. "Go see Sam. He's due for a break." That cheered him even more.

"Pardon, M'sieur Rick!"

"Yes, Emil?" This was going to be one of those nights.

"Someone just won twenty thousand francs! The cashier needs money."

I went into my office, with my head croupier apologizing profusely behind me.

"I'm going to fire that imbecile! I don't know how that could occur, M'sieur Rick! I'm so upset!"

"It's all right, Emil. These things happen." I opened the safe and handed him a fistful of francs.

"I'm so sorry!" He went back to the gambling room, mumbling under his breath.

There were nights like that.

****

I felt the presence behind me, and was grateful my jacket was low enough to conceal the state of my prick. "Louie."

"Rick."

I turned casually to face him. The scent of his cologne seemed to surround me, enclosing me in a cocoon of desire, and I leaned toward his warmth. I wanted to run my tongue over his cheek, licking him.

Startled, I took a step back, and he smiled, awareness in his brown eyes.

"Son of a bitch!" I swore, and his smile widened. "Haven't you anything better to do than to tease me?"

"Do I tease you, Ricky? How nice! Perhaps another time we can do something about that. And about your condition!" Discretely he dropped his eyes to my crotch, and I could feel color flood my cheeks.

"Who's the Kraut, Louie?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Major Strasser, of the Third Reich, is here to see how efficiently we run things in Unoccupied France!"

"Surely that's not all!"

He looked back at his table. "I have arranged for the arrest of the murderer of those two German couriers. *You* know nothing of those missing letters of transit, do you, Rick? No, of course not!" he answered his own question, saving me the necessity of lying to him.

Which was unlike him.

"You've got something on your mind, Louie. Spill it." I was scanning the room, on the alert for any trouble from the smorgasbord of customers I had in the cafe that evening.

Now the smile was gone. "Someone will be coming in here soon. Tomorrow, the day after, I'm not certain when, but he will be here, and he will want those letters. He'll be willing to pay any price for them! I'll tell you the truth, Rick. We know that while many exit visas are sold in Rick's, *you* do not sell them. That's one of the reasons we allow you to stay open."

"I thought the fact that I let you win at roulette is the reason I stay open."

"And that's the *other* reason!"

"So who is this man who is willing to mortgage his soul for a piece of paper?"

"Have you ever heard of Victor Lazlo?"

I went pale and my gaze shot up to tangle with the Prefect's. "Victor Lazlo!"

"Ah, I see you are impressed! Should I be jealous?"

I ignored that. "Victor Lazlo has succeeded in impressing most of Europe! Of course I'm impressed!"

"Well, be that as it may, he must *never* leave Casablanca."

He wasn't happy with my response to that statement. "Louie, if the Nazis couldn't keep him in a concentration camp, and if they've been days behind trying to catch up to him, what makes you think anything can keep him in Casablanca?" My voice was rich with pride. That was the man who had been my lover, although no one knew of it.

"Nevertheless, Rick..."

"I'm willing to wager twenty thousand francs that he makes it to Lisbon!"

He pulled on his lower lip, and suddenly I was disinterested in our wager. I wanted to suck that lip into my mouth and nibble on it. "That's quite a lot of money!"

"I just paid out that much. I'd like an opportunity to gain it back!" My eyes narrowed, and my glance turned heated. And I heard him catch his breath.

Finally! I was *finally* making him as hot to bed me, as I was to bed him.

I signaled to Sascha, who brought me a glass of the good champagne. "Louie?"

His fingers stroked mine as he took the offering. "Suppose we make it ten thousand? Corrupt though I may be, I'm still just a poor official."

He tipped the flute to his lips and took a sip. As he turned to see if his guest was growing restive, I retrieved the glass from him, and he raised a questioning eyebrow.

I smiled and reversed the glass until the spot he drank from was before me. Then I raised it to my mouth and drained the last drops.

"Why, Ricky, you wicked devil!"

"Captain Renault! *Captain*! Major Strasser is getting restless!" Lieutenant Casselle was tugging on his arm.

"*Stop* that, Jacques, you'll wrinkle my uniform!" Louie sighed. "Duty calls, my dear Rick."

"Certainly, Louie. Run along, or Gestapo spank!"

"Oh, no, Rick. But *I* certainly will!"

Damn! He'd one-upped me again! And he knew it!

"Come along, Rick, I'll introduce you."

Following him across the floor, I noticed that Sam was away from his piano, and Sascha was nowhere to be seen. That break was going to be a long one.

I stopped by the band and told the leader to keep the music as nonpartisan as possible. Those Gerries could be such hotheads.

"Major Strasser, may I present Rick Blaine. He owns Rick's Cafe Americain."

"Won't you join us, Mr. Rick?" The Nazi was pulling a little black book from his coat pocket.

"Certainly. How are you finding Casablanca, Major?"

"It is hot, but we will get used to all climates, from the cold of Russia to the heat of Africa."

"Will you?"

"Of course. They will all belong to us."

"Of course," I agreed dryly.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions, unofficially?"

I took out a cigarette and lit it. Louie was not the only one who noticed that I didn't offer one to any of the occupants of the table, as was my usual habit. Casselle and Tonelli exchanged looks. "Make it official. It's okay by me."

"What nationality are you, Mr. Blaine?"

I watched the smoke rise lazily toward the ceiling. "I'm ...a drunkard."

Casselle choked on his wine.

Strasser shot a look at me, but my expression remained innocuous. "I was born in New York City, if that's any help."

"I understand that you were in Paris at the time of the occupation."

"That's no secret."

"Are you one of those people who cannot picture the Germans in their beloved Paris?"

I kept my gaze as bored as I could. "It isn't particularly *my* Paris."

Strasser didn't like the answers I was giving him. "Can you picture us in London?"

"Ask me when you get there."

Heinze could see the Major was on the verge of losing his temper, and ever the diplomatist, asked smoothly, "What about New York?"

"There are some sections of New York I wouldn't advise you to invade, Major. Even New Yorkers won't go there after dark!" I took the little book from him and began to leaf through it. My German was a little rusty, but I could still understand some of it. "Are my eyes *really* brown?" I asked.

His face began to turn red.

One of the French policemen came quietly to his Chief and whispered in his ear. Louie turned away to converse with him. "...And make sure there are two men at every door."

The man nodded and went off to get the arrest in progress.

Emil told me later that Ugarte was very calm about the whole thing. He politely asked the gendarmes if he might cash in his chips, and then waited until they approached the door. With an easy movement, he yanked the side arm of one of his guards free and bolted through the door, wheeling to fire wildly.

"Rick! Rick!" he beseeched. "Help me! You must help me!"

I was there, by the door. It's my business, and I didn't want innocent bystanders to be injured.

Ugarte threw himself at me, his hands entwined in my lapels. "Please, Rick! Please!"

"Don't be a fool!" I said shortly. "You can't get away!"

And then they had him, and they dragged him from the cafe. Abdul closed the door behind them, shutting out the last of the little man's cries.

"If my time ever comes, I hope you're more help to me, Blaine," an Englishman sneered.

"I stick my neck out for no one!" I raised my voice to be heard above the uproar. "It's all right, folks. There was a little excitement, but everything is under control. So have a drink and enjoy yourselves."

"Ricky!"

I started for the stairs that led to my rooms.

"*Ricky*!"

I paused at the bottom, and waited for him to reach me. He was pale, I noticed, and I was glad he was as affected as I was.

"Do me a favor, Renault: don't *ever* honor me like that again!

Part 16

I strode up the stairs to my rooms above the cafe, taking them two and three at a time.

I cared nothing for Ugarte, who was a worm, a parasite.

Why then was I so upset that Louis Renault, the Prefect of Police, had had him arrested for the murders of the two German couriers? After all, Louie was only doing his job, wasn't he?

I paused with my hand on the ornate knob on my bedroom door. He was doing his job, all right, but was it going to cost him his honor? I had been in Paris at the end of the War to End All Wars, and had seen the Tiger pin the Croix de Guerre on his chest. Louis Renault was too good a man to kowtow to the likes of Hitler's errand boys.

All my adult life I had believed in laissez-faire: in letting my fellow human beings go to hell in their own particular fashion. If Louie chose to be venal and corrupt, who was I to object?

And now he was trying to impress the German pig who sat drinking my most expensive champagne and eating the finest caviar from my kitchen. My staff knew to give Louie only the best in the house. I was livid that Strasser was gaining the benefit of my ... fondness for the Frenchman.

I stopped dead in the middle of my bedroom.

I was the man who ... didn't want him to be venal and corrupt.

The door was thrust open and then bounced shut behind the man who stalked in.

"Louie!" Desire shot through me at the look I could feel stroking over my body. It started at my prick and arrowed up to pierce my heart.

"Not a word, Rick! Not one single word!" He walked stiffly to where I stood in the middle of the purple and green patterned Persian rug that covered a good portion of my bedroom floor. His index finger pointed chest high, stabbing at me as if it was a weapon.

If he had touched me, I might have taken a swing at him.

If he had touched me, I might have hauled him into my arms and kissed him senseless.

I refused to back away. And then we were toe to toe and I could feel him against me, hard and urgent. He raised his hand, bare of its usual glove, and his fingers threaded through my hair, sifting it.

The sensation those fingers engendered was too good to believe.

The brown of his eyes filled my vision and I felt as if I was tumbling headlong into them. I could see striations of deeper brown and then my lids drooped and the sight before me was blanked out.

Hot, wine-scented breath bathed my mouth, and a light pressure feathered against it, pleading for entrance. Helplessly, my lips parted, and a warm, moist tongue lapped at them. It ran across the ridges of my teeth and then withdrew.

"Who do you see behind those closed lids?"

A soft moan followed the loss of that mouth. "Louie!" My eyes opened languidly.

His hands were on my hips, pulling me fiercely against him. "There are many stories about you, Rick. You've had a lot of women here in Casablanca, but not one of them could keep you for long."

"What's your point, Louie?"

"*I* want to be the one in your mind! When I'm in your bed! When I'm in your body!"

"You want me, Louie?" I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting him there. "I'm many things, but I'm not easy. You're going to have to work hard to get me."

His mouth took mine again, and this time his tongue surged past my teeth to toy with my tongue, licking and stroking it, and I was certain this had to be a dream.

Only if it was, it was better than any I had ever had, and I did not want to wake up.

My hands went around his waist and slid low to cup his buttocks, drawing him to my erection, rubbing mindlessly against him.

I couldn't catch my breath. He angled me around and began backing me toward my austere bed. His fingers were sure on the buttons of my shirt, spreading it aside, fondling my nipples.

A seductive thread of sound filtered through my head, becoming more and more imperative.

And finally I realized it wasn't my mind offering sounds to fuck by: it was a song.

A song I hadn't heard since Paris. One I had forbidden Sam to play ever again.

From the floor below, the music filtered up, to flood my heart and take it in a punishing grip.

"You must remember this,
"A kiss is just a kiss,
"A sigh is just a sigh.
"The fundamental things apply, as time goes by..."

****

People stepped away from me, hastily backing out of my path. It couldn't have been any plainer if I bore a sign that warned 'Cross me if you dare.' My face was hot and the top of my head felt as if it was about to explode.

"I thought I told you never to play that song again!" I snarled at my piano player.

Sam was trying to signal something with his panicked eyes. I followed his desperate gaze. Time seemed to slow and stand still. I grabbed the edge of the piano to keep myself upright, my knuckles turning white from the pressure.

Swinging his bench up and slamming it onto the top of his piano, Sam nervously edged out of the line of fire as I faced the woman who had haunted my dreams for the past three years.

"Ilsa!"

"Hello, Rick."

"You are acquainted with Mademoiselle Lund, Mr. Rick?" Major Strasser was decidedly intrigued with that turn of events.

"We knew each other in Paris," she answered before I could get my tongue unglued from the roof of my mouth. "The last time we were all together was..."

"The day the Germans invaded France, in La Belle Aurore."

"How nice. You remember!" Her voice was so bland. If it wasn't against one of the few principles I had left, I would have been tempted to take a poke at her.

"I remember every detail," I said through clenched teeth. "The Germans wore gray, you wore blue."

"Yes. I put that dress away." The dress I had lovingly peeled from her lithe body. "When the Germans march out, I will wear it again."

I could feel the Prefect of Police coming up behind me, almost quivering with interest. He had seen me with women before, but never was a woman as beautiful as Ilsa Lund. I dismissed his presence.

"I'd like you to meet my companion, Rick."

She was no longer calling me Richard. I waited expectantly for the feel of a man having his insides kicked out.

And when it came, it wasn't because the woman I thought I loved, and thought I would never see again, had suddenly come into my life once more.

He approached from the shadows of the bar, his white suit standing out like a beacon. The world seemed to spin wildly and then shrink in upon itself. A roaring filled my ears. The man walked to Ilsa's side and stopped there, facing me, his hand possessive on her.

As it had once been possessive on me.

Victor Lazlo.

Part 17

The shadows spilled over the courtyard, dappling the gaily patterned tiles. A bottle of whiskey, the level of liquor descending rapidly, was before me on the little metal table. The glass was clutched tightly in my left hand.

"You okay, boss?"

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, *he* has to walk into mine!"

"Boss?" Sam was confused. I could see that, even through the haze of alcohol I was determined to lose myself in.

"If it's 1941 in Casablanca, Sam, what time is it in New York?"

"Dunno, boss. My watch broke."

"I bet they don't know what time it is there either." I laughed bitterly. "Have a drink, Sam."

"No thanks, Mr. Rick."

"Then *don't* have a drink!" I poured myself another three fingers and gulped it down.

"Mr. Rick, who you talkin' about? I thought you was upset to see Miss Ilsa again!"

"Miss Ilsa? Oh yeah. Sure." I stared gloomily into the amber liquid in my glass. "Did you see his vest, Sam?"

"Huh? Boss, I think you've had too much to drink!"

"Is this bottle empty?"

"No," he responded cautiously.

"Then I haven't had too much!"

"Boss, please!"

"Fuck it, Sam! I don't understand it! Ugarte gets arrested, and then she walks in. And then *he* walks in!"

"He who, boss?"

"Victor Lazlo!"

Sam stopped fidgeting with the chess pieces. "Your...friend ... from New York? Boss, that's wonderful!"

I tossed back the remainder of my drink and poured another. "He's with Ilsa!"

The piano player frowned. "Your...friend...from Paris? That ain't good, boss!"

I sneered at the bottle of whiskey. "Tell me something I don't know, Sam."

"Listen, boss. Let's go fishing. We'll take a drive down the coast, get drunk, come back next week."

"Play it, Sam."

"I don't remember ..."

"You played As Time Goes By for her, you can play Do It Again for me!"

His mouth dropped open and then he snapped it shut. "I ain't got the music with me boss."

"Fuck. Then what good are you? Go 'way, Sam. I want to wallow!"

"In what, Mr. Rick? You can't..." His voice petered out and I buried my head in my arms. From far away I heard him gasp. "Cap'n Renault! What you doin' here? It's after hours! We ain't got no gamblin' goin' on now!"

I wondered at the coolness in Sam's tone.

"Go to bed, Sam. *I'll* take care of your boss."

I tried to raise my head, but it felt as if it was filled with cement, and I couldn't lift it.

"He's my friend, *too*. *I'll* take care of him. We don't need you here!"

"Ricky needs me more than you think!"

"Don't you call him that, Cap'n! He's down now! He don't need you kickin' him in the ass!"

"I have better plans for his ass, Sam! Go to bed."

Sam squeezed my shoulder. "You want me to leave, Mr. Rick?"

"'Sokay, Sam. I'll just finish this bottle and then get started on *this* one." I pulled another bottle of whiskey from where I had stashed it by my chair.

He exchanged a slightly panicked glance with the Prefect of Police, and I scowled as I saw Louie shake his head. "Fucking frogeater! You go 'way too, Louie. I don't want you here tonight."

"Does that mean that perhaps you'll want me here another night?" He took the bottle away and scrutinized the label. "Really, Rick, I'm most disappointed in you! This stuff is worse than what Ferrari sells at the Blue Parrot. It will eat your insides!"

"So what?" I cradled my head in my arms once more.

"Go on, Sam. I'll see that he doesn't deplete his own stock of this poison."

Sam grumbled a bit more, but it had been a long night, and the lure of the Russian in his bed proved too great for him to resist. "Night, boss."

"Deserter!" I grumbled. I peeled an eye open long enough to see the look the colored boy gave the Frenchman. "Sam loves me, at least."

"Apparently you're loved by more people than you realize, Ricky."

"Yeah, but not by the ones who matter!" I reached for the bottle, but Louie held it just out of reach and I lost my balance and nearly toppled over. Louie got a grip on me and kept me from falling on my ass.

"Come along, Ricky. I'll get you to bed."

"You gonna join me, Renault?"

"Is that an invitation, Rick?"

I stood, wavering slightly, and thought about it. "Sure. Why not? No one else wants to go to bed with me."

"How graciously you put it, Blaine. For three years you've danced around the fact that I find you extremely attractive, and *now* when you are so drunk you can barely stand, *now* you say you want to sleep with me? Well, I don't think so!"

He turned sharply on his heel and started to leave. And I felt bereft.

"Louie?"

He stopped. He didn't return, but at least he stopped.

"You don't like me any more, Louie?"

The Prefect of Police sighed. "That's the problem, Ricky. I like you too much."

"Then spend the night with me."

"Rick, you are so piss faced you wouldn't know who was in your bed!"

I started to laugh.

"And I fail to find the amusement in that!" he huffed.

"Where'd you hear that, Louie? Piss faced? It reminds me of home!" A drunken tear welled up in my eye. "I miss home, Louie, and I can never go back there!"

"I heard you use it yourself, here in the cafe! Oh for God's sake, Rick! You're becoming maudlin!"

I nodded sadly. "I know Louie. That's why I don't drink whiskey."

He tried to stifle a snort of laughter, but I heard him and grinned drunkenly. He came back to me. "Come along, Ricky, I'll see you get to bed. Alone."

We began to walk back into the cafe. His arm was around my shoulder, and I leaned into him more than was really necessary. The cologne he wore filled my nostrils, and I nuzzled the spot under the hinge of his jaw.

"I loved 'em both, Louie."

He became very still, then started to walk me up the stairs to my rooms.

"Who, Rick?"

I was pretty sure he knew who I was talking about.

"Victor. Ilsa. Loved 'em both! And they both left me."

Louie got me down onto the bed and I slumped over backwards. He slipped off my shoes and lifted my feet up onto the coverlet. Gently he got a pillow under my head and brushed the hair back from my eyes. "Oh, Ricky, you are going to hate yourself in the morning!"

He touched my hair again, and something very like a kiss caressed my forehead.

Part 18

Captain Renault's POV

I'm a fool. I know it; have known it any time for the past three years. Ever since Rick Blaine came to Casablanca.

I had seen how he reacted to being called Richard, becoming almost rabid with fury, and so I made it a point to never refer to him by that name, not even in the private recesses of my mind. He was Rick. Or Ricky, when I wanted to tease him.

He had to come to me to get the permits to open his Cafe Americain. I saw him walk in the door to my office, and I licked my lips and wondered if here was someone worth crossing swords with.

Rick took the seat across from me and sat, casual and bitter, a sneer on his lips as he determined my interest in the vee of his legs. So I reined in my libido and contented myself with making things just difficult enough to keep him intrigued.

I flirted and teased, but made sure he knew there were others in my bed. Hoping, I suppose, to make him jealous enough to demand fidelity.

I sighed and looked down at his prone figure in his chaste bed. For in spite of his reputation as a man it was dangerous for women to know, he had never taken any of his women to this bed, preferring to go to theirs. It made things so much simpler. When he was finished, he would just leave.

And as for men...well, I kept track of those things.

There were none.

I stroked the neat mustache above my lip, remembering the feel of his breath against it. So close. I had been so close to finally having my way with him, and then the matter of Ugarte came between us.

I never realized how much my honor meant to Rick. He always seemed so blase. His disappointment in the manner in which I handled the arrest of the little man affected me more than I anticipated.

That's when I finally accepted that I had crossed my own line in the sand. Until that point, I had never permitted any of my little...romances to come anywhere near touching my heart. I had seen, early in my life, how loving someone could leave a man devastated.

So I walled up my heart to keep it safe.

I sighed again and leaned down to brush the hair off Rick's forehead. "Ah, Ricky, what *am* I going to do with you?"

His dark brown eyes opened unexpectedly, and his fingers grasped my wrist. "Love me!"

My prick leaped to attention, and I bent further to capture his lips with my own. I swallowed his soft moan and licked at the smooth lining of his mouth, playing languidly with his tongue.

He shifted restlessly and murmured, "Love me...Victor!"

I jerked back as if I had been bitten by a snake. "*Merde*!"

"Victor!" he breathed. "You came back for me! I dreamed that you left without saying goodbye, but you came back!"

The anger seeped out of me and I stood there, deflated. His kisses were not for me, but for another man, a man revered throughout Europe for his daring and gallantry. How could I hope to compete with such a hero?

I turned away, prepared to mourn the loss of...what? My friend? My...love?

My hand was on the doorknob when I stopped. Since when had I allowed anything to come between me and my desires? Had falling in love suddenly made me an ineffectual fool?

I am Louis Renault, Captain. Prefect of Police of Unoccupied France. All of French Morocco answers to me!

I looked back at the figure on the bed. He was now curled on his side, away from me and I grinned ferally.

"You'll be mine yet, Rick Blaine! I'll have you in my bed, will you, won't you! And when I make love to you, it's *my* name you will cry out! *Mine* and no one else's!"

Part 19

A gaggle of gremlins were racketing around in my skull, beating out the Anvil Chorus. I moaned and rolled over, only to have an arrow of light from the windows stab me in the eye. I moaned again and rolled the other way, and this time my stomach took up the protest, threatening revenge for my callous treatment the night before.

A tapping came at my door, and I realized this was what had roused me from the cotton batting of slumber.

Not waiting for a response, the door was flung open and Carl hurried in, babbling joyously. "Ah, Herr Rick, this is the start of a glorious day! The Hero of Czechoslovakia is in our midst! Isn't it wonderful?"

I could hear the title in capitals. I threw my pillow at him, but it was a feeble attempt at retribution. "Shut up, Carl," I grumbled.

"Herr Rick? I bring you your breakfast."

My stomach assured me that if I tried putting *anything* into it, the results would be dire and immediate. And not pleasant to witness.

"Go away, Carl. I just want to die in peace!"

He chuckled and set down the tray, bustling around the room, flinging open the windows to let in the softly scented morning breeze. "Yvonne was in with a German officer last night. Captain Casselle voiced his disapproval and she threw a glass of French '75 at him. Herr Berger, the Norwegian who pretends to sell jewelry so he can make contacts for the Underground, was at the bar. He was speaking with The Hero."

That got my attention. I accepted the cup of bitter black coffee that he offered me and asked cautiously, "Do you know what the conversation was about?"

"What else could it have been about but obtaining exit visas."

"He'd do better to go to Ferrari."

Carl shook his head. "Word has gone 'round that anyone offering aid to the illustrious Herr Lazlo will find himself on intimate terms with the Casablanca jail."

"That won't stop Vic...I mean Lazlo. He's gotten out of tighter spots than this!"

"This is true, Herr Rick, but this time he must make good his escape with a woman."

I swallowed hard. Ilsa. I had forgotten her.

Well, no. That wasn't exactly true. I had never forgotten her, but I was trying very hard not to think about her. Or about the fact that Victor was wearing my good luck vest, which I discovered missing just before Sam and I had to beat it out of New York after Eddie Bartlett was gunned down.

And which I suddenly realized, I had last seen in Ilsa Lund's apartment! How long had she known Victor?

Carl stood in front of me, holding a couple of aspirin in his hand, waiting patiently until I took them from him.

"What else do you have to tell me, Sunshine?"

His fat face wrinkled with a beaming smile. "Herr Ferrari has sent over your shipment of American cigarettes."

"Shit," I said wearily. "How many cartons are we missing this time?"

"Only a dozen or so, Herr Rick. More than some shipments, not as many as others." He shrugged philosophically. "This is Casablanca."

"Yeah, it's Casablanca all right." A nagging thought was gnawing at my brain and it wouldn't give me any peace. "Carl, who put me to bed last night?"

He was suddenly busy gathering up my breakfast tray, although I hadn't touched a bite. "I go now and get the books ready, ja? Time to pay the bills, Herr Rick."

I let him get to the door, watching through bloodshot eyes. "Who did it, Carl?"

He had been so close to making a clean getaway. He thought. I never would have let him leave without an answer. His shoulders slumped, and then he straightened resolutely. "It was Sam, Herr Rick. Who else?"

Who else indeed? It was obvious that Carl was not about to give me a straight answer. "Go get the books, Carl. And leave the coffee."

The little Austrian made good his escape. I drained the last of my coffee and threw back the coverlet, to find myself still in last night's clothing. Well, that was a blessing, at least. He hadn't taken advantage of me in my drunken state.

I vaguely remembered the cool voice of the Frenchman promising...what? For a moment I panicked, sure I could hear him saying something about him having me in his bed, about me crying out his name.

And then I realized that those words could have been nothing more than another fantasy. Louis Renault was too suave to offer threats like that.

Of course he was. He had merely been promising that I would regret my overindulgence, that's all. Which I did. With a vengeance.

I got out of bed and staggered to the bathroom door, wrestling out of my wrinkled shirt and trousers, leaving them where they fell. They smelled of the alcohol I had sweated out, and I decided I didn't want them any longer.

I'd tell the woman who did my laundry to burn them.

****

I was lying in the tub, letting the tepid water soak away the stink of stress and liquor, starting to feel more human, when the door opened gently.

"Feeling better, Ricky?"

"Ah, *fuck*, Louie! Can't a man have *any* privacy? Where is Abdul? He knows better than to let visitors up here at any time!"

The Prefect of Police smiled and took a seat on the commode. "But I'm not just any visitor, am I, Rick? And Abdul, and everyone who works in your cafe knows that now!"

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.

"I mean that I am tired of playing games with you, Rick Blaine. You may as well face facts. You're mine."

"What games? What are you talking about? I ...don't... think I...understand... Louie, what are you doing?" In the middle of my little diatribe he got to his feet and began to leisurely unbutton his uniform jacket. "Louie...?"

"I'll tell you what I'm talking about, Rick." He paused to neatly fold his jacket and began to work on his shirt. "I've had enough of pretending that teasing you is enough."

I know I must have resembled a beached fish. My mouth kept opening and closing, but nothing was coming out.

His fingers were on the waistband of his trousers now. "Oh, it was satisfying enough, at the time, but I want more now!"

I licked my lips, unable to tear my eyes away from his naked body. Most specifically from the prick that was rising proud and arrogant from the cluster of reddish curls that surrounded it. "Louie?"

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a satisfied grin. "Ricky?"

He stepped into the tub and knelt, gently easing his body toward mine. I tried to retreat, but there was nowhere for me to go but down. So I went down, forgetting the water that surrounded us. It filled my mouth and my eyes and my nose, and then I was back up, gasping and spitting, and Louie was laughing silently.

And then his lips were on mine, and I was lost. I forgot Ilsa ... the Cafe Americain... Victor. Everything except the man in my arms.

His fingers were wrapped in my hair and he pulled my head back, staring deep into my eyes. I was helpless to move closer unless he allowed it. He ran his lips over my cheek to my ear, nibbling on the lobe before biting down sharply. And then his tongue soothed the tiny hurt and dipped into my ear, tracing the swirls. His hot breath made me shiver.

I was so hard I knew that before many minutes I would explode. It had been too long since I had felt as if my body was not my own.

"I'm going to fuck you, Rick. I'm going to take you right here, on your bathroom floor. I'm going to leave you so stiff and sore, and well-loved, that all day long, no matter where you are, no matter what you do or who you're with, you'll know that *I* was in your body!"

"Louie!"

He looked at me as if daring me to refute his words, his eyes so hot I thought I would melt from the heat.

"You talk too much, Louie!"

His mouth swooped down to take mine, his tongue demanding entrance. My lips parted and I expected him to surge in. But he was a Frenchman, and when he made love to my mouth, it was with a Frenchman's finesse. Easy, unhurried strokes. Softly sucking my tongue. Taking, taking, but never enough. Restlessly I rocked my hips, seeking relief for the ache of my prick.

Until finally his hand drifted down to take my weeping erection in a grip just short of painful. When he let me go, I gasped at the loss of his possession.

"Oh no, Ricky. I'm not nearly done with you!"

He stood and hauled me up with him. "Out of the tub, Rick! I want you on your knees!"

I scrambled to obey him, never once questioning the rightness of this. I sank down before him and let my eyes feast on the magnificence of his male flesh. Balancing myself carefully, I licked at the tip of his arousal, tasting his salty essence as it beaded there. I lapped at the thick vein on the underside, and then took him deep into my mouth.

My eyelids drifted shut and I savored the taste of him, somehow so French. I could feel his balls beginning to tighten, but his hands gently pushed my head away. "Not yet, Ricky," he said, reaching for a jar of lotion I used to keep my hands supple for dealing cards. "When I come, I want to be buried deep inside you!"

I shivered and turned my back to him. "Yes!" I whispered hoarsely, presenting my ass.

His fingers were cool and slick as he parted my buttocks and fingered my puckered opening. One slid in with no trouble at all, and he took his time, letting me grow used to the feel of it. In spite of myself I tensed when I felt two fingers enter me, and he reached around to take my prick in his other hand.

I spread my legs further apart and bowed my back, mindlessly wanting more. I was so lost in a fog of lust that I didn't even realize it when he replaced his fingers with the head of his prick. He was halfway inside me before I discovered the switch, and then he was pounding away, with every thrust hitting the spot that caused me to burn.

The trembling began in my thighs and rolled up in waves to my ass, where inner muscles tightened around the hard prick that was fucking me. I began to come, filling his hand with the hot, creamy fluid. My orgasm triggered his. Deep inside my channel he flooded me with his semen. I relished the feel of his damp skin along my back, and I struggled to maintain my position, but the combination of a massive hangover and being fucked to within an inch of my life proved too much, and I collapsed under his weight.

"Ricky? Cher ami, are you all right?" Carefully he withdrew from me and rose to find a washcloth. Gently he cleaned me and then himself. "I didn't hurt you, did I, Rick?"

Languidly I shook my head and smiled into his brown eyes. "Thanks, Louie. I needed that!"

He gave a spurt of laughter and helped me to my feet.

****

We were dressed and sharing the remains of the coffee Carl had left, from a single cup, when the little waiter rapped imperiously at the door once again.

"What, Carl?" I asked, feeling too good to take umbrage at the interruption.

"You have a visitor, Herr Rick, who *must* be seen!"

"Says who?" I groused good-naturedly.

"*I* say, Richard!"

Part 20

"Ilsa!"

Her eyes darted nervously to the Frenchman. "I need to speak with you, Richard! Alone!"

Carl had looked from the woman to the Prefect of Police to me, and turned on his heel, heading out the door. "I go see to the spring cleaning, ja, Herr Rick?"

"It's almost *winter*, Carl!" He ignored that and bolted through the door. "Bring up some more coffee!" I shouted at his back, and he waved his hand to signal that he had heard my order. I shook out a cigarette and lit it, observing the woman I had once loved through a cloud of smoke. "So we're back to *Richard*, are we? Last night I was Rick."

She swallowed hard and turned her melting gaze onto Louie. "Please, m'sieur," she whispered throatily to the Captain.

"Who am I to deny a lovely lady?" He took her hand and brought it to his lips with polished ease. How was it the French could take such a gay gesture and imbue it with savoir-faire?

He glanced my way, and I walked stiffly to the door to open it for him. I still ached from his lovemaking. He smiled at my discomfort, pursed his lips and sent me a kiss. Then he winked and walked out.

Uneasily I looked toward Ilsa, but she was busy examining the chess game that was set up in my sitting room, and was oblivious to the little scene that had just been played out.

But then, she always had been rather oblivious.

"Won't your...companion be upset to find you here?" I sneered, still not sure how I felt about the reappearance of one lover with another.

"Richard, please!" She paused as Carl entered bearing a tray with a carafe of coffee and another cup.

"I don't know if you take cream and sugar, Miss Lund, so I bring both," he said as he set it down on the low boy. He nodded in satisfaction and left.

I poured out her coffee, adding a dollop of cream and enough sugar to cause a toothache.

"You remembered."

"Don't start that again, Ilsa." I refilled my own cup and raised it to my lips, placing them over the spot from which Louie had drunk. "Just tell me one thing: did you leave me standing in the rain because you couldn't take it?"

She didn't pretend to misunderstand me. "The kind of life where we would always be on the run? I have that kind of life now, Richard."

"I don't understand then. Why wouldn't you come with me?"

"After you left me that day, I received word that Victor was alive. Seriously injured but alive."

"So you chose him instead, over me." I wasn't surprised. *I* would have chosen him over anyone else.

"Victor is a very charming man, isn't he?" she asked, apropos of nothing.

"*I* always thought so."

She wasn't listening. "Richard, you don't understand! He's not my lover, as everyone seems to think."

"The two of you give a very good impression of that!"

She looked distressed. "He's my husband!"

I choked on my coffee. "What? Since when?"

"Since before I knew you in Paris."

I had to sit down. "How come no one knew?"

"It was for my protection, and for the protection of the organization. If the Nazis ever found out we were married, they could use me as a weapon against him."

"So you are content to let everyone think you're a tramp?"

She winced. "You know Victor. His work is so very important. And he made it all seem so reasonable. What does my reputation matter in the long run, compared to the lives of the unfortunates in the countries Hitler has overrun?"

"*I* never would have asked that of you!"

Ilsa came to where I stood by the window and ran her fingers gently over my cheek. "I know, Richard. You were so sweet."

I felt haunted. "Why would you even look at me if you were married to someone like Victor, let alone take me to your bed? And how did you get my vest?"

"I've had more offers to share my body than you could possibly believe. You never thought it strange that I accepted a drink from you that first day, that I allowed you to befriend me?"

"I...thought you might be as lonely as I was. There was something about you..."

Her eyes were sad. "Oh yes, I was very lonely. I thought Victor was dead, you see."

I too had heard the rumors of his death. "Then why an ordinary mug like me?"

"Victor told me about you."

I turned green. Victor had told his wife that he had taken a gunsel for a lover? I remembered something Eddie Bartlett had told me one time: when in doubt, admit nothing and ask an open-ended question. "How did you feel about that?" I held my breath.

She took a sip of her coffee and blotted the moisture from her lips with her tongue. "I wasn't surprised that he had found such a strong friend, one who was willing to die for him. He has that effect on people."

"Indeed he does."

"The night we wed, he gave me the vest he had brought from America. It was a token of your friendship, he said, and he described you to me. He had been following your exploits. He's very proud of you, Richard."

I shifted uneasily and walked to the chess set, picking up the white knight and rubbing my thumb over its helm. "I won't ask how he kept track of me. If the Nazis could do it, I'm sure he would have the means as well. I don't understand why, though."

She came to stand behind me, her arms encircling my waist and her breasts pressing against my back. "He needed to know if you fulfilled the promise of your youth, he told me. In case he should ever have need of you. In case the cause needed you." Her tone was somewhat bitter.

"And he needs me now?"

"We *have* to get out of Casablanca, Richard! I held him up for two weeks when I was ill in Oran. I pleaded with him to leave me, but he refused."

It could have cost him his life, but he stayed with her. "What does he want of me, Ilsa?"

"Those letters of transit. We were to meet a little man named Ugarte, but last night Berger told him that Ugarte was arrested."

"That's true. But what makes you think *I* would know anything about those exit visas?"

Her eyes were flat. "They were not found on Ugarte."

"I guess you'll just have to ask him what he did with them."

"Ugarte is dead."

I wasn't surprised. I merely wondered whether the report would read that he had suicided or died trying to escape. The Germans did not approve of having their citizens slaughtered, unless of course they were the ones doing the slaughtering.

"Suppose I said I would give them to you in exchange for..." I left the suggestion hanging.

"In exchange for what, Richard? We haven't much money."

"No one who winds up in Casablanca seems to. No, I don't need money. I'm doing rather well, thanks to my contacts."

"Then what, Richard? Whatever we have, whatever you want, it is yours!"

"A night in bed, perhaps?"

Reflexively she rubbed her shapely buttocks, so like a boy's. "I haven't done that since Paris, Richard. Victor has not been well enough..." She stopped, horrified at what she had unwittingly revealed.

"So he was the one who taught you to take it up the ass?"

"That's such a crude way to phrase it!"

"But true?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"I was willing to make love to you in the usual way. Why did you allow me to have you like that?"

"Victor told me you liked it that way," she said simply. "And if I ever had the opportunity to make love with you, I was to let you do that to me. He promised I would not regret it."

"So. I can have you again, in any manner I choose, if I give you the letters of transit."

She blushed in shame, but whispered, "Yes."

"And Victor would have no objections."

She turned away, unable to meet my eye. "Yes."

"And what if I told you I wanted him, instead of you?"

"I don't understand, Richard. Why would you want a man in your bed?"

I could see she was frankly puzzled. "It seems Victor didn't tell you everything about me. Very well, he was willing to give you to me in exchange for those letters. Are you willing to do the same? Will *you* give *him* to me?"

There was a sound at the door, and we both spun around, to find Louis Renault watching us. He was smiling, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "Why, Rick," he said. "I do believe I'm jealous!"

Part 21

It had been a long time since I had opened mouth, inserted foot, and it was depressing to see I hadn't lost my touch when it came to making a fool of myself.

****

Louie had stood grimly in the doorway to my rooms, not at all happy with the portions of the conversation he had overheard.

"What are you doing here, Louie?" I had snapped at the Prefect of Police. "Haven't you got anything better to do than spy on me?"

He had wiped all expression from his face. "I merely returned to inform you that Major Strasser insists on a thorough search of the Cafe. I'd suggest you give your staff the morning off and find something to occupy yourself until this afternoon."

I thought of all the ways we could occupy ourselves and took a step toward him, but he was already turning away, nodding coolly to Ilsa. "Louie..."

"I wouldn't dawdle, Rick." And he stalked out, irritation evident in every line of his body.

****

Sascha appreciated the time off. He planned to visit Descartes, a local jeweler, to look at his new shipment of rings. He had it in mind to get something for Sam. Something with a diamond.

Oddly enough, Sam had the same idea.

I went to the Blue Parrot, ostensibly to give the authorities the opportunity to search the Cafe, but in actuality to determine Victor Lazlo's chance of obtaining exit visas. Ferrari sat at his usual table critically eyeing the belly dancer who was undulating through her act.

"No, no, *no*!" he shouted. "More bangles! More baubles! How many times must I tell you?"

I took a seat opposite him and watched the hapless dancer. "Looks good to me, Ferrari."

His lip curled. "That's because you're an American, Rick! All a girl needs to do is wiggle her ass and she would look good to you!"

I stifled a laugh, unable to believe that word of my little episode with the Prefect of Police had not already reached him. He had eyes and ears everywhere, even in my cafe.

There were very few secrets in Casablanca.

The fat man dismissed the veiled girl and settled back in his chair. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Rick?" He nodded as Jamal, his headwaiter, placed a coffee service before us.

"I can't pay a visit to an old friend?"

"Certainly. However, I did not think that the term *friend* applied to us. Perhaps friendly rivals. We could, of course, change that."

I reached for a cup of coffee but froze in the act. "Change it to what?" I asked cautiously.

"Business partners, my dear Rick. What else?"

What else, indeed. I began to breathe easily once more. "Not likely, Ferrari. You're too sharp for me! I'm just a simple saloon keeper."

He smiled at me, and I felt my insides turn to water. Ferrari was an institution in Casablanca. No one could remember when he had not been there. And for all his outward appearance, he was an extremely dangerous man, one it was not wise to cross.

"What can I do for you, Rick, if you didn't come here to discuss becoming my...partner?"

I wet my lips. "What are the odds of Victor Lazlo getting an exit visa from you?"

"For the woman, excellent. For himself, slim to none."

"Why, Ferrari? I'm sure he would make it worth your while."

"I'm afraid not, Rick. Not in this instance. If I accommodated him in this matter, I would find myself not only out of business, but run out of Casablanca as well."

"Louie wouldn't do that to you! Who would he find to play chess with?"

"You, perhaps, Rick? No, this would not be Captain Renault's doing. This would be under orders of the Gestapo. Even *I* will not attempt to take them on."

"Jesus!"

"Indeed! Now, tell me, when are you going to sell me the cafe?"

"When hell freezes over, Ferrari."

His eyes became hooded. "That might be sooner than you imagine, Rick!"

****

I stood in the doorway of the Cafe Americain and sighed.

My staff wasn't happy, not when they saw the condition of the Cafe. Nothing was broken, but tables and chairs were overturned. The press that contained all the linen had been torn through, and tablecloths and napkins were strewn all over the cafe, their pristine whiteness marred by black boot prints.

Louie was less than pleased with me.

Carl entered behind me and he verbalized his displeasure. "Tsk!" he hissed between his teeth. "These Germans! They make one ashamed to be of the same nationality!"

"You're Austrian, Carl."

"Ja, this is true, Herr Rick, but only by a few kilometers! My Uncle Klaus is German!" He sighed heavily. "We all have black sheep in the family!"

"Yeah, well, I'll take your word for it. I've got no family."

"Herr Rick, *we* are your family!" He swooped over and seized me in a bear hug that threatened my ribs. His exuberance made me a little uncomfortable, while warming me at the same time.

Abdul frowned mightily over the mess, then silently set about righting the tables and chairs.

Emil was pale with anger. "This is not right, M'sieur Rick!"

I shrugged and walked over to Sam's piano. Sheets of music had been scattered over the floor. I stooped to retrieve them and casually raised the lid. Inside the slim envelope was still resting innocuously. I pulled it out and slid it into the inner pocket of my jacket, then set the music neatly on top.

Idly I ran my fingers over the keys, ascertaining that the piano had not been damaged. I sat down at it and began picking out a tune.

"Blue champagne. Purple shadows and blue champagne.

"With the echoes that still remain, I keep a blue rendezvous."

I crashed my hands down on the echoing notes and rose abruptly. No sense in putting it off any longer. I went to the staircase, about to start up to my rooms to see what the damage was there.

"I didn't know you played the piano, Ricky." His tone was calm, almost playful

"Louie." I waited at the bottom of the stairs, uncertain of his real mood.

"I've got you guessing, haven't I, Rick?"

I wasn't about to answer that. "What can I do for you, Louie? Your men didn't have to be so thorough, did they? It's going to take us all afternoon to get this place ready to open for the dinner crowd."

His mustache twitched as he subdued a smile, and I found myself getting hard. "Major Strasser was *very* unhappy that Ugarte expired before we could wring the location of the exit visas from him. The Major had some extremely... inventive, shall we say? methods he was planning to use."

"You saved Ugarte from being tortured?" I didn't expect the Frenchman to risk his position for someone as low as the little black marketeer.

"Why are you surprised, Rick? He was about to spill his guts, as they put it in Hollywood."

"Yeah, so?" I shook out a cigarette and offered him one. He took the pack and selected a cigarette, then took mine from me as well. He put them both into his mouth and struck a match with his thumbnail.

Louie dipped his head and touched the ends of the cigarettes to the light and drew in a lungful of smoke. Then he handed me back my cigarette and nodded toward the top of the stairs.

"I could scarcely have him incriminate my lover, now could I?"

Part 22

I stopped short in the doorway, feeling as if I had taken a blow to my chest. My sitting room looked even worse then the public rooms of the cafe. "Oh," I said hollowly.

Louie looked over my shoulder and said nothing.

I knew I had angered him, but I never dreamed he would take such petty revenge. The chess set had been knocked off its table, the exquisitely made king and queen ground to dust. Leather bound books lay like so many decimated soldiers, the covers torn, the pages ripped to shreds.

Glass crunched underfoot, and I looked down to see the remains of the little Tiffany lamp that I used to read by. I knelt to pick up the pieces of a Faberge egg, a token from Chiang Chai Chek for actions above and beyond. Sam had been given one as well.

My eyes burned, and I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping at the pain tearing a hole in my heart. Oh, not over the things that had been destroyed. I had started out in life with nothing, and would no doubt have nothing again, but the thought that Louis Renault cared so little for me that he could callously order the wanton destruction of my possessions hurt more than I would have
believed.

My vision blurred, and I averted my face and wiped surreptitiously at my eyes.

"*Merde*!"

The Prefect of Police was striding to the phone, which was about the only thing that wasn't lying in ruin. He was almost quivering with fury. Not anger. Not ire. But rage so great I thought he
would explode.

"Get me Sergeant Lejaune. I don't care where he is; *get him at once*! *At once*, do you hear?"

He waited impatiently, his toe taping the glass-covered Persian rug. "Lejaune? You pusillanimous, supercilious, sanctimonious piece of trash! How *dared* you go beyond your authority?"

I could hear the luckless sergeant on the other end of the line trying to respond to his commanding officer, but Louie did not give him the opportunity to defend himself. I listened in awe as the cloak of venality he wore dropped from his shoulders and he became the man awarded the Croix de Guerre by the most revered leader in France.

And as he tore into Lejaune, not once did a single profanity pass his lips.

"You will pack your gear immediately. I will arrange for your transfer to Algeria. You have always claimed to have the soul of a Legionnaire. Now you will have your deepest desire!" Louis slammed down the phone and came to where I was still on my knees.

He bent and took my arms, raising me to my feet. "I'm so sorry, Rick. I never meant for something like this to happen!"

My eyes were still too bright, and I blinked them rapidly, unable to meet his concerned gaze.

The warmth of his breath bathed my face, and then his lips sipped at the salty trail on my cheek.

"I had to make it look good, or Strasser would have sent his storm troopers in to tear your place apart, but I should never have given the task to Lejaune. The man takes too much pleasure in wielding what authority he has. The men under him have come to me before with complaints, and he has a number of official reprimands on his record."

"I'm glad you didn't order your men to wreck those things, Louie. But why keep Lejaune around?"

"His brother-in-law is an official in the Vichy government. I had no choice. But now he has committed an act against a civilian that cannot be glossed over. I have to thank you for that, Rick. I've wanted to get rid of that pompous buffoon for years!"

His arms were still around me, and I felt ... comforted by them.

****

Pale, but more composed now, I gave orders for Carl to have the shambles that was my apartment righted. "Hire some of the local girls to come in and clean up. And hire whomever you may need to get us ready to open on time tonight. I've got to go to police headquarters and file a complaint."

"Ja, Herr Rick, we take care of it fine." He gave Louie a dirty look, but the Prefect of Police simply smiled at him and walked out into the bright afternoon sunlight.

I followed, admiring the cut of his trousers over his muscular thighs.

Sergeant Lejaune was cleaning out his desk. He glowered at his commander, but didn't risk saying anything. The look he sent me promised retribution if he should ever get me alone. I stood there, rocking on my toes, waiting for him to make a move.

When Louie realized I hadn't trailed behind him into his office, he called, "Rick?"

"Be right there."

I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in the sergeant's direction, then flicked it at him. He tried to leap over his desk to get at me, but Lieutenant Casselle just happened to be passing by and knocked against him, sending him spilling onto the floor. "Pardonnez-moi, Sergeant. How very careless of me! I can't imagine how I came to be so clumsy!"

Lejaune curled his lip in a defiant sneer, but dared do nothing more. His sister might be married to a low-level official in the government, but Casselle had been in bed with someone very high up, who was still extremely fond of him.

He winked and ushered me into the Prefect's office. I shut the door behind me and took the seat across from him. It was the same seat I had used when I had first met Louie.

He handed me the form to be filled out and went over to the file cabinet that contained the good liquor. "Bourbon, Rick?"

I looked up from the paper. "Sure. Thanks."

"Do you know, I've often fantasized about having you here, on this desk."

I choked on the dark amber liquid. His brown eyes met mine, and although there was a smile in them this time, I could see he was serious about making love to me here in his office. And I wanted him to strip off my clothes and take me on that desk.

"It's too..."

"Dangerous? Yes, I know. But I can dream, can't I?"

I licked my lips. "How likely..."

"That we would be disturbed? Too likely, I'm afraid."

"Is there..."

"Somewhere else where we can go?"

"Jesus, Louie, stop answering my questions like that!"

He chuckled. "Another time, perhaps, eh Rick?" He settled himself back in his chair and raised his glass to take a healthy sip.

I signed my name with a flourish and tossed the paper toward him, then leaned my elbows on the edge of the desk. "Know something, Louie? I don't like this place. Why don't we go somewhere else?"

"For a drink? I was hoping you'd suggest that, Ricky. Did you have someplace in mind?"

He was such a neat man. He put away the bottle and glasses, straightened his desk, set his hat at a jaunty angle and preceded me to the door. Before he could open it though, he stilled, as the distinctive tones of Major Strasser filtered through the door, demanding to see the Prefect of Police.

"Under my desk, Rick. Quickly. I don't want to have to explain you to the illustrious Major!"

Unquestioning, I followed his instructions and curled in on myself in the space under the desk. Louie waited a beat then went to open the door. I could hear Lieutenant Casselle protesting loudly that the Capitaine was not to be disturbed, and Strasser over riding his objections.

"You wished to see me, Major?" Louie's smooth voice was like oil on troubled waters.

"You promised me those letters of transit!" the major said through tightly compressed lips.

"I promised to *look* for them, which, indeed, I did. They were nowhere to be found in Rick's Cafe Americiane."

"*Then where are they*?"

"My dear Major, I assure you I have no clue! Have a seat, won't you?" Louie came around to his side of the desk and settled himself in his chair.

And he was on level with my eyes. My mouth went dry with desire and I reached out to run a finger along the front of his trousers. He jumped.

"Is something wrong, Captain Renault?"

"Of course not, Major." But Louie did not sound his normal, suave self.

I grinned and decided it was time for a little revenge. Quietly I began to unbutton his uniform pants. I reached in and got my fingers around his hardening prick.

"What do you plan to do about this matter, Captain?"

"Er..."

I had taken him out and leaned forward to lick the tip. His hand came under the desk and wound in my hair. He pulled warningly, but I ignored the slight pain in my scalp and took him into my mouth.

He yelped.

"Is something wrong, Captain Renault?"

"Mouse! I thought I saw a mouse in the corner."

"You need to get yourself a good German exterminator. We of the Third Reich do not permit such problems!"

"How fortunate for you!" Louie was starting to get desperate now. I had set up a rhythm, sliding all the way down to his base, then drawing my head back until only the crown was still in my mouth. I curled my tongue around him and tugged gently.

"I must see Herr Heinze." I could hear Major Strasser scrape his chair back. "We will be dining at the Blue Parrot, but we will arrive at Rick's for a night cap. Make sure you are there, Captain!"

Louie's agreement was garbled, and he tried to stand, but I wouldn't release him. I was enjoying his taste and his scent too much. The door closed behind the major and I was able to growl my pleasure as Louie's fingers no longer tried to pull my hair out by the roots. He held my head and began thrusting deeply.

I could feel him swell and then he was coming in my mouth, more than I could swallow. It dribbled down my chin.

His breath was whistling between his lips, and I thought for one frightening moment that he was in physical distress. He sank back into his chair, drawing me out toward him. I released his flaccid length and leaned up into his arms. His lips met mine in a ravenous kiss.

"Ricky!"

"Yes?" I smiled against his mouth.

"Nothing. Just...Ricky!"

Part 23

"Louie."

"Yes, Rick?"

"I didn't *really* need to hide under the desk, did I?"

He gave me a sideways glance. "I was hoping you wouldn't realize that."

I couldn't help myself. I leaned into him and stole an all too brief kiss. His hands came up to cup my head and he held me close to him, rubbing his lips over mine. "Come to bed with me!" he whispered.

And then the reality that was Casablanca crashed in on us. Lieutenant Casselle tapped hesitantly at the door, the phone began to ring, and irate voices from the other room washed into the little island of time we had made for ourselves.

He had recently had his hair trimmed, and I stroked the short hairs at the back of his neck, enjoying the abrasive feel against my fingertips. "Tonight? Your place?" I asked, trying to conceal my eagerness.

He stiffened. In a heartbeat he seemed to distance himself from me, although he hadn't moved a centimeter. "My place?" he repeated, his tone so cold I shivered.

I reined myself in. If they knew you loved them, they left you. Coolly I replied, "Yes. Unless, of course, you've changed your mind? You got what you wanted from me; you fucked me, and I sucked you. Are you done with me?" Inside I felt as if I was bleeding

The starch went out of his spine and he went back to the cabinet to get himself a drink. He knocked it back and poured himself another, before offering one to me. I shook my head in refusal. A drink was the last thing I needed.

As if he had come to the same conclusion, he put the alcohol away and straightened his uniform, giving the jacket a brisk tug. "I haven't changed my mind." Before I could feel any relief he continued. "But suppose I don't want you at my place, Rick? Where, then?"

Now I was starting to get panic-stricken, uncertain of what he wanted from me. I hid it with a show of annoyance. "Let me get this straight. You want to fuck me, just not in your bed."

"That's right. Let me make it simple for you, Rick. I want you in a bed where, when you've had your pleasure, you won't be able to leave m..." he caught himself up short. "...to leave and go home."

Lieutenant Casselle's tapping had become a pounding. "Captain Renault, c'est important!"

"Think about it, Rick. I'll be at your place later tonight. Let me know your decision then. *Oh very well, Jacques*!" he shouted at his second in command as he flung the door open. I had never seen him lose his sangfroid before. "Qu'est-ce que ce que ca?"

I left while Lieutenant Casselle was attempting to explain just what it was that needed his Captain's attention so pressingly.

I tried to sort out my confusion. Louie Renault was willing to sleep with me, but in my bed, not his. Why?

I always went to my current love interest's rooms rather than have them in mine so that I could leave when I wanted to, as he had said. I never stayed the night.

Was that what he really wanted, to be able to leave when he was done with me?

I wasn't happy about that. No one had slept with me in my bed, not even Ilsa Lund. Not since Victor Lazlo, all those years ago. I had been in any number of beds, but never spent the night.

Would I be able to take it if...I closed my eyes in pain. There would be no *if*. *When* Louie finished fucking me and got up to leave?

The only thing worse than that would be if he left two dollars on the dresser on his way out the door.

I opened my eyes. Before me was my cafe. The sun had set and the inky blackness of the North African night descended on Casablanca. There was a chill in the air. Fog, like an enveloping blanket, would soon cover the city.

The neon lights that sprawled across the facade of the building blinked on, *Rick's Cafe Americain* flashing to life. Abdul, the burly doorman, solicitously opened the door for me, then stood as I examined the repairs they had done.

"You are pleased, M'sieur Rick? We do a good job?" My staff waited expectantly.

"You did a good job," I agreed, and squeezed his arm. "Thanks, Abdul." I raised my voice. "Thank you all. The place looks fine."

There were murmurs of relief, and then they took their places. The first of the gamblers would be coming in at any minute, the dinner crowd not far behind.

I ran up the stairs to my rooms, a knot of dread in my throat, but the girls had done a thorough job and all the damage had been set to rights. The chess set from the courtyard replaced the one destroyed by Lejaune. There were even books in the bookshelves, very old and fine looking.

"Sascha and I picked 'em up for you boss," Sam said, at my shoulder. He was about to go down to his piano and begin limbering up his fingers.

"Thanks, Sam. You're good men."

He ducked his head at my gratitude. "It wasn't nothin', Mr. Rick. We just went down to the bazaar and bought a hundred pounds of books."

I laughed for the first time since I left police headquarters and grabbed Sam in a hug, pounding his back. "You're still good men!"

"You eat yet, boss? Clark has something special he savin' for you."

Clark was our German chef. His name was actually Adolf, but when Hitler took over he left Germany and changed his name. He was a big fan of the actor Clark Gable, and that was the name he chose. He had a way with sauces that could disguise the toughest cuts of meat.

"I'll be down in a bit. I want to get cleaned up and get some things in order." Sam turned to leave. "Oh and Sam, when Miss Ilsa comes in, she'll be accompanied by a very distinguished looking man. That will be Victor Lazlo. I need to speak with him privately, so come get me, wherever I am."

"Victor Lazlo, boss? He the man who was your honey?"

I sighed. "Long ago, and far away, Sam."

"That sounds like a good song title, Mr. Rick." He closed the door behind him, chuckling softly.

Yes, it did. I smiled and started peeling out of my clothes. My tie was dotted with dry come and I stroked the linen thoughtfully. No one seemed to have noticed. I folded it carefully and tucked it away in a grip I kept under the bed.

The compact valise contained francs, and deutsche marks, lire and pesos as well as American dollars and five pound notes. A shiv, a Colt automatic with ammunition, some articles of clothing. When the time came to get out of Casablanca, I was ready.

And that tie was coming with me.

****

I had sponged myself clean of the day's sweat and was just finished dressing when there was a sharp rap on the door. Sam came barreling in before I could say yes, no or maybe.

"What is it, Sam?" I asked as I bent over to tie my shoelaces.

"Mr. Rick, Miss Ilsa's here."

I drew in a deep breath. I was going to see Victor again. "Mr. Lazlo is with her?"

"A man came in with her. I guess he that Victor you loved so much? If he is..."

"What is it, Sam?"

"If he is, now I know why you took to Miss Ilsa so quick!"

"I don't follow you, Sam. Miss Ilsa is a beautiful woman." I slid a pack of cigarettes into my pocket, along with a lighter.

"And Mr. Lazlo?"

"*I* always thought he was a handsome man."

"That's just it, Mr. Rick. They both beautiful! And they look so much alike they could be brother and sister!"

Part 24

My mouth was so dry. I swallowed and ran a hand over my hair. "He's here?" I ignored everything else Sam had said, fussing with my tie and jacket.

"Yes, boss," he replied resignedly. He came to stand before me and brushed aside my hands so he could correct the hash I made of my tie. "You want I should send him up?"

"Yes. No." I bit my lip, filled with indecision. "No, tell him I'll be down shortly. But send Carl up, I need to speak with him."

Sam sighed and left me, and I paced my sitting room, trying to imagine my former lover here with me.

"You wanted to see me, Herr Rick?"

"Carl, I'm having a guest here. I want you to set up a table with hors d'oeuvres and drinks."

"Yes, Herr Rick."

"Um, cointreau, absinthe, brandy. See if Clark has any frogs' legs. I'll want oysters' Rockefeller, shrimp stuffed with crab meat, clams casino."

"Anything else, Herr Rick?"

I rubbed my hands together. "I'll leave it to Clark. Carl, this is for Victor Lazlo. I want it very special!"

For some strange reason, he didn't look overjoyed to know I would be dining with the Hero of Czechoslovakia. "I go now, Herr Rick, but I hope you know what you're doing."

"Don't I always, Carl?" I was almost giddy.

****

I strolled down the stairs to the main room of the café, attempting to look soignee. At a table close to Sam and as far away from the German contingent as could be arranged, were Ilsa Lund and Victor Lazlo. Sam was playing As Time Goes By. I walked over, barely acknowledging Louis Renault where he sat with Major Strasser.

Ilsa caught my eye and looked away. Victor rose and extended his hand. "M'sieur Blaine, how nice to see you again."

What was this *M'sieur Blaine* nonsense? "Victor, it's so good to see you again."

For a moment panic flared in his eyes. "I must speak with you. Somewhere private, perhaps?"

"Sure. Come on up to my office. You'll excuse us, won't you Ilsa?"

I turned away, giving neither the time to object, heedless of the attention I was drawing. Victor trailed along behind me.

At the top of the stairs I opened the door and ushered Victor in. The lighting was subdued, soft and romantic. A table set with a spotless tablecloth was covered with all manner of comestibles to tempt even the most jaded pallet.

"Care for an absinthe, Victor?"

"How nice, you remembered."

"Did you doubt it?" Before he could say another word, move another step, I closed the door and took him in my arms. "Oh, God, Victor, I missed you so much!"

He turned his head and the kiss I planned for his mouth landed on his cheek instead. His body was stiff in my embrace, and his message came across loud and clear.

*He did not want this*.

I dropped my arms and stepped back.

"Richard. Please."

"Why did you come here, Victor?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

I simply looked at him.

"I need to get out of Casablanca."

"What has that to do with me?"

"Thousands will die unless I can get to America and continue my work."

I shrugged and lit a cigarette. "People will die nonetheless. No one gets out of this life alive. Shall we eat? This food is growing cold." I offered him an oyster.

He brushed the plate aside. "My contacts in the underground kept me abreast of your exploits. You ran guns to Ethiopia. You fought the fascists in Spain."

"So?"

"You always fought on the side of the underdog."

"I don't any longer. Anyway, all that says is that I was a poor judge of causes."

"Richard, my work was once as important to you as to me!"

"No, Victor. *Nothing* was as important to me as you. Well, apparently that's all water under the bridge. Here, have an absinthe. That always was your favorite drink, if I recall correctly."

He took the small glass and looked into the green depths. "I was supposed to meet a man named Ugarte, to purchase two exit visas."

"Ugarte is dead."

"Yes, I learned of that this morning in the Prefect of Police's office, when Major Strasser was offering me the opportunity to leave Casablanca."

He was in Louie's office that morning? And Louie hadn't told me? "Why didn't you accept?"

"His offer came with too many strings. He wanted the names of the leaders of the underground in Paris, Prague, Brussels, all the major cities of Europe."

"And you declined to give them." He always had been a noble son of a bitch, I thought bitterly.

He seemed surprised that I should have to mention such a foregone conclusion. "Of course."

"So why did you want to see me tonight?"

"I understand you have the visas."

"The Germans thought so. They searched my place this morning and didn't find anything."

He waved that aside as if inconsequential. "That means nothing, Richard. I know you too well. If you had those letters of transit, they would be hidden in a place those Boche would not find them!"

"All right. Suppose I do have them. What makes you think I would give them to you? Now?"

"Richard, I can give you a hundred thousand francs for those exit visas."

I watched the ash at the end of my cigarette grow, and shook my head. "Not enough, Victor."

For the first time I think he realized I was no longer the young man who had been so enamored of him. "You've changed, Richard! You've gotten harder, colder...Very well, what do you want? Name your price!"

I smiled, but there was no humor in it. "You might want to be careful how you phrase that, Victor. I've already told Ilsa what it would cost."

He grew still. "My wife? You want my wife, again?"

"You knew I had had her?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I knew how closely we resemble one another, that was one of the reasons why I married her."

"I see." There was a nasty taste in my mouth. "Those who wanted you, but preferred women..."

"While I was in the concentration camp, I was able to get a message to her to find you in Paris, to make you her lover."

"Why, Victor?"

"I knew I would need your help..."

"And you didn't think I would give it to you, *freely*, just for the asking?"

"Everyone has a price."

"Do they? You were so certain?" I turned away from him, so disillusioned I could have wept. All those wasted years.

"I don't understand. If that is so, then why won't you help me now?"

I grabbed him and pulled him close enough to feel my half-aroused state. "Who said I wouldn't help you now?"

"I don't understand," he repeated. "If you don't want the money, what *do* you want?"

"What I've always wanted. *You*, Victor. I want *you*!"

Part 25

I had never seen a man look so sad, or so conflicted. "Richard. Even if I wanted to, I could not give you what you request."

"I...don't understand." Now it was my turn to say those words.

Victor Lazlo turned away from me, unable to meet my gaze. "The first camp I was interred in-- they were not happy when I refused to give them the names of the leaders of the Resistance."

I felt sick. "I've heard that the Nazis have ways of making their prisoners talk, even the strongest ones."

"Yes," he said musingly, "they were quite disappointed when their methods did not work on me."

"Victor, what did they do to you?"

Instead of answering, he undid his trousers and let them fall.

My stomach roiled in protest at the sight. Glassy scar tissue. His once proud prick...

I closed my eyes and shuddered. "Oh my God, Victor! I'm so sorry!" My arms went around him and pulled him to me, and he absorbed the tremors that ran through my body. "Mon homme brave!"

"C'est rien, Richard. It is all right. I am in no pain now. And it was so long ago..." He stepped out of my embrace. "You see why I need the exit visas. They are breathing down my neck. I *must* get out of Casablanca!"

There was nothing I could do about the ruin of his lower body, but seeing he got to safety...*that* was something I could do for him. "I can't get the letters for you now, there are too many Germans around, and it would be too dangerous, for both of us. Come back after hours and I'll have them ready for you."

"Thank you, Richard."

I had to kiss him. I pressed my lips against his soft, warm mouth, licking at it, hoping for ... what? A spark of passion? He stood motionless, and it was like kissing a statue.

I drew back, letting my arms fall to my sides. I could have wept.

****

We left my rooms and began to walk down the stairs to the main room below.

Carmina was supposed to be entertaining the customers. She usually played her guitar and went from table to table, enchanting the men, but in such a droll manner that their wives would shake their heads indulgently and smile.

Instead, masculine voices were raised in song. A surly resentment seemed to lay over the cafe, and I went on the alert. I searched out my bouncers, those strong-arms dressed innocuously as waiters, and they signaled their preparedness. I remained tense.

The Germans, led by Major Strasser were singing.

"Deutscheland, Deutscheland, uber alles..."

The French, the Poles, the Serbs, the Czechs, everyone whose country had felt the iron boot heel of Germany on its neck, glowered at the group of men or stared into their drinks, sullenly swallowing their choler.

Major Strasser was happier than a pig in... He was happy. He was flexing his Nazi muscle, forcing them to take it up the ass and smile.

I would have brushed off the whole thing, lighting a cigarette and having Sascha pour me a bourbon. As long as there were no outbreaks of violence in my cafe, I didn't care a damn what the Germans did.

But Victor did care. His face flushed with anger and he left me standing on the stairs, striding across the floor like a white knight determined to avenge the wrongs committed against those in his care.

He stopped in front of the orchestra, almost quivering with rage. "Play the Marseillaise!" he ordered.

Francois, the orchestra leader, looked toward me. He might agree fervently with the Czech, but *I* paid him.

This act could cost me my saloon, my freedom. It could cost me ... everything. I considered all that, and dismissed it.

"Play the Marseillaise!" Victor repeated, and I nodded.

With a fillip that spoke of anger long suppressed, the orchestra, which consisted primarily of French expatriates, swung into the stirring opening bars of their national anthem. And Victor began to sing.

"Allons enfants de la patrie,
"Le jour de gloire est arrive...!"

It was as if the patrons of the Cafe Americain had been touched with an electrical wire. They sat up straighter, unable to tear their eyes from the man who stood in the spotlight.

Carmina didn't hesitate. She went to stand beside my former lover, tapping out the rhythm against the belly of her guitar and singing strongly.

"...Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras
"Engorger nos fils, nos compagnes...!"

Major Strasser tried desperately to get his men to drown out the words, "They are coming into our midst, to cut the throats of your sons and consorts!"

But the people in my saloon had been swept up by Victor's fervor. They stood, and joined him, even Yvonne, who wept as she proclaimed her loyalty to her native land.

"Aux armes, citoyens!
"Formez les bataillons!"

One by one, the German officers fell silent, and with petulance written in every line, Strasser took his seat, sulkily turning his back on those who continued to sing. He glowered at Louis Renault, who swiftly removed his expression of pride and shrugged as if to say he was not responsible for such an outpouring of emotion.

"What can I do, my dear Major? It is merely a song!" Knowing full well, it wasn't.

And Victor led them on.

"Marchons, marchons!
"Qu'un sang impur
"Abreuve nos sillons!"

The crowd burst into wild applause and cheers, and shouts of Vive La France! Vive la democracie! rang exultantly throughout the Cafe Americain.

Major Strasser's face was dark with fury. "You see what Lazlo's presence has accomplished, even here, in this corner of nowhere? I want this place shut down!"

"But everyone is having such a good time!" Louie said innocently.

Strasser glared at him. "They are having *too* good a time! Find an excuse and close this place! *At once*!"

Louie glanced from where Victor Lazlo stood, accepting the accolades of the crowd to where I stood observing my one-time lover. He saw my face before I could smoothe out the longing in it, and I could have sworn his eyes appeared to cloud. But I must have been mistaken, because he pulled out his shiny tin whistle and gave a loud blast.

"The cafe is closed! Everyone leave, tout de suite!"

I stormed over to him. "How can you shut me down? On what grounds?"

The look he gave me was positively cold, and I shivered in spite of myself. "I am shocked, *shocked* to find gambling going on here!"

I gaped at him, unable to believe his audacity. At that moment, Claude, one of my croupiers, approached him.

"Your winnings, M'sieur le Capitaine!"

"Oh, thank you so much!" He turned away from me, pocketing the francs and said regretfully, "You've often said you stick your neck out for no man. Now it appears you have, and I won't be able to save you from your own folly. I'm sorry, Rick." I reached out to him, but he walked away, and I felt as if I had been kicked in the gut.

This was the Prefect of Police, not my friend, not my ... lover.

Strasser stalked over to me as I watched the crowd pour out of my cafe. "You see what comes of crossing swords with the Third Reich?" he gloated. He was overjoyed with this victory after his crushing defeat at the hands of Victor Lazlo.

And I had had enough. Enough of being torn between an old love and a new. Enough of having everyone I loved leave me sooner or later. Just...enough. "Major, sprechen ze deutsche?"

He looked confused. "Of *course* I speak German!"

I curled my lip at him and walked away, calling over my shoulder, "Droppen ze dead!"

Part 26

Louis' POV.

I could understand Ricky's attraction for the Czechoslovakian. If I weren't so enamored of the American, I would have been interested in Victor Lazlo myself, and would have taken great pleasure in having him beg me for it.

But Rick wouldn't beg. And after Lazlo's performance in the Cafe Americain, I was sure he would never even think twice about me again.

It was a calculated risk. I had seen that look on his face, and knew I had no hope of ever having one like it directed at me.

So I had acted reflexively, striking back out of the hurt he had dealt me. And then turned my back on him, hoping he would call me back.

I was an inveterate gambler; I should have known better.

I had tossed the dice and rolled snake eyes.

He let me go.

****

I sat at a table in the back of the Blue Parrot, a glass of red wine in my hand. I did not want to get drunk. I just wanted to wallow in my gloom.

Meryam, Ferrari's newest ... dancer flashed by me, her torso undulating rhythmically, the tiny cymbals on her fingers keeping time with the movement. She smiled seductively, offering me
whatever I wanted.

So tender, the freshness of youth a bloom upon her cheek. But she was working for Ferrari, and I thought to myself, Why not?

I threw some francs onto the table and climbed to my feet, suffering the old ennui. I crooked my elbow in my usual gallant manner. After all, I had a reputation to uphold.

She flowed up against me, her lush breasts soft against my side. Her dark eyes sought out Ferrari's for approval, and he nodded complacently.

The corner of my mouth went up in a calculated grin. He thought this would give him a hold on me, a way to prevent me from closing *his* place down as I had closed down his competitor's.

He saw my smile, and shifted uneasily in his rattan fan-backed chair, pale under his North African tan.

Satisfied, I turned my attention back to Meryam. "Shall we go, my dear?" She clung to my arm and we stepped out into the fog-shrouded night.

She chattered inanely all the way to my quarters, and I felt exhausted by the time we climbed the stairs to the top floor. My ears actually hurt.

In my sitting room she flitted from one objet d'art to another, stroking them with delicate fingertips, pausing by the nude statuette with its long hair, upraised arms and averted face.

I actually considered sending her home, before deciding that one warm body was quite as acceptable as another. And then she uttered a small shriek, backing toward me.

Someone was sitting in the shadows.

I strode forward and thrust the girl behind me, my hand already reaching for the revolver that was my side arm.

Because I seldom used it, most of the denizens of Casablanca considered it merely a showpiece. However, I had not reached the rank of captain on my good looks alone. I was a crack shot, as the inhabitant of my favorite easy chair was about to find out.

The lamp beside the chair was suddenly turned on, its soft glow illuminating the three of us. And I swore.

Seated there, his hair disheveled, stubble covering his chin, looking good enough to swallow whole, was my own personal bete noire, Rick Blaine.

"Send her home, Louie."

"And if I'd rather not?"

The way he got out of that chair had my mouth dry with desire. I was teased, tantalized by that body.

What did I care if his heart yearned for another? *I* wanted to bury myself in him one more time.

"Sahib..." Meryam's eyes were wide with fright. Despite her youth, she was no fool. She knew danger when she saw it. "Please..."

Rick tossed her some bills, and she scurried out the door.

I watched her leave with no regret.

"What do you want here, Rick?"

"Suppose I said I want *you*, Louie."

"Then I would say that obviously you've mistaken me for someone who cares."

"Have I? Louie..."

I couldn't help myself. I was tired of wanting someone who always kept a part of himself for another. "If you want to get fucked, Rick, go to Lazlo. He's the one you've been saving yourself for, isn't he?"

"I'm no angel, Louie. I haven't spent the years since he left me in an empty bed."

"You may as well have. Leaving those poor women in the middle of the night! Giving your body, but not your heart. You're a sham, Rick Blaine!" Even in my anger I was careful not to call him Richard. "You pretend to be so hard and tough, but deep down inside, you're just a frightened little boy who's terrified of getting his heart broken again!"

He came to where I stood and looked down into my eyes. His tongue swept over his lips and I almost moaned.

"*I'm* a frightened boy? And what of you, Renault? How many women have passed through your bed?" His breath fanned my mouth.

I was stunned by his attack and could not get a word past my lips. His fingers wound in my hair and he pulled my face close to his.

"How many have touched your mind?" His fingers flexed in my hair. "How many have touched your heart?" His hand pressed against my chest. "How many have touched your soul?" And his mouth was on mine, with such force my lips felt bruised.

I struggled not to respond, although my prick surely thought I was insane. He was right; I tried to protect my heart, just as he did. And yet...

"Say my name!" I shuddered from the depth of my desire, aware, suddenly and for the first time that I would just as willingly have taken him into *my* body.

"What...?"

"I want to be sure you know it's *me* who's fucking you!"

His lips nuzzled my throat, where the pulse was beating erratically. "I know it's you, Louie!" He thrust his hips forward, rubbing his arousal against my prick. "Take me, please!"

But I wouldn't let my eager hands find and trace his erection. I wouldn't let my lips respond to his. "Are you hard for me or Lazlo?"

"What does it matter, Louie?" he groaned. "Victor can never make love again! To me or anyone else! The Nazis ruined him!"

"Is that what he told you?"

"That's what he *showed* me! They tortured him! He couldn't fuck me if his life depended on it."

"So you decided to come to me for what you need. How do you think that makes me feel, Rick? I may not be a world renowned freedom fighter, but I am the Prefect of Police in Casablanca, which makes me a fairly important man in our little corner of the world."

Rick shoved me backwards and I lost my balance and fell into a chair. He dropped to his knees before me and undid my uniform trousers, his warm fingers reaching in to find and shape my quivering flesh. His thumb pressed the slit at the top of my prick, collecting the moisture that beaded there and bringing it to his lips.

He shed his pants and straddled my lap, lowering himself onto me. Before I could protest that I would hurt him, that he needed to be prepared, he sank down, easily accepting my prick into his ass.

He had prepared himself. And at that moment I didn't care if it was for me or for Lazlo.

I shuddered and bucked, and he held himself still for my thrusts. Quicker than I would have liked, I began to fill his channel with my hot semen. Warmth pooled on my abdomen, and I realized that *my* release had triggered his.

He sagged against me, his ring of muscle clenched to keep me within for as long as possible. But nothing lasts forever, and soon I was too flaccid to remain in his hot passage.

"Louie!" His lips traveled up my neck to my ear where his warm breath made me shiver and start to grow hard again. He licked a path along my jaw to my mouth and stroked across my lips, pleading for access.

I turned my head. "I want Lazlo out of Casablanca, Rick."

"I always knew you were a good man, Louie."

Well, if he wanted to believe that... "I warn you though. If he's still here by this time tomorrow I will hand him to Strasser on a silver platter."

He stood, his legs somewhat shaky. "Will you let me stay the night, Louie?"

My fondest hope. "If you wish," I said carelessly, not wanting him to know how much his offer meant to me. "Tell me something, Rick."

He leaned into me. "Sure."

"Lazlo may not have been able to fuck you, but was there anything wrong with his mouth?"

Part 27

Louis Renault's bed was the softest I had ever been in. It seemed to envelope me in a loving embrace, and I slept better than I had in years.

Or perhaps it was being in Louis' arms that made sleeping such a pleasure.

My head was pillowed on a furred chest, an arm lightly stroking the line of my back. I arched into the touch of those clever fingers, slowly coming awake.

They delved lower, into my hole, which was still slick from lubricant and come. Quite a bit of come. Louie was amazing for a man his age. My ass was so well used that I felt the ache deep inside me.

He rolled me over onto my stomach, and nudged my legs apart. A warm, wet tongue began lapping its way from my tailbone, over the base of my spine to my shoulders, and a very hard, hot prick nudged at the crevice between my buttocks. I hummed with pleasure and spread my legs further, angling my hips up to facilitate his entry.

I gasped as he slid past the tight ring of muscle and began an easy rocking motion. His teeth sank into the spot where my shoulder and neck joined, and I wondered if he would leave a mark. Then his lips began to suckle and I was sure of it.

I moaned and wriggled under him, trying to encourage him to increase the speed of his strokes.

"No, Ricky," he whispered in my ear, and then his tongue dipped into it. "I want this to last a *very* long time!"

His prick brushed across my hot spot and I shivered in response. "Please, Louie!" He had me reduced to begging. He changed the angle of his thrusting, and I became even more desperate. I tried to reach for my prick, determined to bring myself off, but he linked his fingers with mine and held my arms away from my body.

And continued his leisurely fucking.

His weight along my back prevented me from moving, and I was unable to even rub my weeping prick against the smooth linen of his sheets. I bit frantically at the pillow, wild with the need to come.

"Did he ever give you this, Rick?" Louis asked hoarsely. His pace was speeding up finally, and I was able to get my knees up under me and thrust back against the hardness that was plundering my ass. "Did you ever feel with him what I make you feel?"

"No! Oh God, Louis, *no*!" The breath whistled from between my lips, mingling with deep groans of pleasure. "Make me come, Louis! Please!" I was shameless.

Three things happened simultaneously: his teeth broke the skin of my neck, he began to pour himself into me, and he released my hands, reaching around to take possession of my prick. And with the lightest touch of his fingers I came, shuddering and crying out. I came harder than anytime before in my life.

Harder, even, than with Victor.

I knew in that moment that whatever I had felt for that long ago lover, it was nothing compared to what I felt for the man lying against me now, cradling me in his arms. I wondered how I would ever be able to protect my heart from him.

And then I wondered why I even wanted to.

****

I was getting cleaned up in Louis' spacious bath when his batman arrived with breakfast. I winced as I ran a cool washcloth over my tender hole. "Christ, Louie, you really rode me hard!" I called out to him.

He cleared his throat and I bit my lip, wondering if the little man who took care of his needs hadn't left as I had thought.

"We have company, Rick."

I pulled a face at my reflection. I seemed to have opened mouth, inserted foot. Well, nothing for it now but to put the best possible face on it. I wrapped a towel around my middle and walked back into the bedroom.

"You didn't tell me you were expecting anyone, Louis. Should *I* be jealous?" The towel slipped a bit and hung low on my hip.

"Of course not, my dear Ricky. You remember Sergeant Lejaune?"

I could feel the heat rise up in my face. "Of course," I replied stiffly.

The Sergeant's little pig eyes gleamed with malice. "It seems you'll have to reconsider your decision to send me to Algiers!" he drawled.

"Does it?" Louis asked casually. "Why is that, I wonder?"

It suddenly dawned on me that a man did not get to be Prefect of Police by being a fool and a weakling. I looked at my lover with appreciative eyes.

"If you do not reconsider, I will have my brother-in-law inform the Vichy government that the chief of police of Casablanca is a homosexual!"

I felt my gut clench. In Casablanca they might overlook such an inconsequential matter. Indeed, that was one of the lesser of all the decadent acts carried out in French Morocco, but if Louis was ever recalled to France it would well cost him his career.

Yet he continued smiling. "Really? And why, my dear Lejaune, would you do that?"

The Sergeant began to sputter. "You...he...the bed..."

"You have absolutely no evidence that anything of that nature has been going on here!"

"But I heard this man..."

"Yes?"

"He said...I heard..."

"He *said* nothing! You *heard* nothing. And if you dare to speak of finding M'sieur Blaine in my quarters, I will merely point out that after his rooms were left in a shambles, a result of actions instigated by you, Lejaune, it would be the height of folly for me to refuse him a place to spend the night."

"But..."

"Don't be more of a fool than you can help, Sergeant! I have held this position for more years than I care to think about, and believe me, I *know* where all the bodies are buried. *I will crush you like a bug*!"

Lejaune's face was leeched of all color. His eyes darted about nervously. "Of course, mon Capitaine. I see now that I was in error! I beg your pardon! If I may be excused?"

Louis dismissed him with a negligent nod, and in moments we were alone.

"I'm sorry, Louie. I made things difficult for you."

"Not at all, my dear Ricky. I haven't enjoyed tearing a strip off someone like that in forever. It is very difficult to exercise one's sadistic streak when one's men look up to one so." His eyes were warm, and I actually felt my heart turn over.

"And we all know what a sadistic bastard you are," I said lightly, knowing he was no such thing.

He walked to where I stood and pulled my head down. His lips brushed over mine, and he set his tongue to exploring my mouth. I reached for him, but he backed away, laughing.

"Breakfast, Rick. And then I expect you to make arrangements for Lazlo to leave Casablanca."

"What will you tell Major Strasser? If he succeeded in bringing Lazlo back to Germany, that would result in a plum promotion for him. He might even become one of Hitler's fair-haired boys. He won't be too happy if you toss a spanner in the works!"

"Why Rick, are you concerned for my safety?"

"More than you'll ever know," I said, but softly, so he wouldn't hear. "Actually, I'm concerned about our bet." I went back into the bathroom and covered my face with his shaving cream. Using Louis' razor, I began to shave. "You realize you'll still owe me ten thousand francs, don't you?" Foolishly I pressed my lips to it, then ran it over the curve of my jaw.

"You wouldn't dream of holding me to our little wager, would you?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I?"

"I *never* wager with family, Rick!"

Part 28

I stood before the mirror, my eyes fastened on the bite that stood out in stark relief at the side of my throat, running my fingers over it. The heat of that memory seared through me, and my prick hardened. None of my lovers had ever marked me, not even Victor Lazlo.

That was what I had been missing, what Louis Renault gave to me, the sense of being possessed by the man who took my body.

My lips parted, and I could barely catch my breath. I flipped back the collar of my shirt, sliding the long end of my tie through the knot and straightening it.

And then another pair of hands came around and smoothed the soft material. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Rick."

"What?"

"I've never marked a lover like that before." He turned me around and his fingers rested on the spot below my collar. "I never realized how barbaric I could be! I find I like leaving my mark on you, Rick." He ran his fingers through my hair, stroking it back from my forehead, and took my mouth in a kiss that started as a gentle teasing but quickly escalated.

"I... want you, Louis. More than I've wanted anyone!" I pulled out of his embrace and reached for my jacket and hat. It was still too hot to go outdoors without one. I licked the moisture of his kiss from my lips and gave my trousers a discreet adjustment.

"You sound as if that thought doesn't please you."

"I'm...not sure. I'll have to think about it and let you know." I took a last sip of cooling coffee and headed for the door.

His hand on my arm stopped me. "Don't be too long in thinking about it, Ricky. I'm not a patient man! I promise you!"

****

I walked into the cafe, trying to disguise the stiffness of my gait. And each time I thought of how I came to be so stiff, I would grow hard.

"Herr Rick! You are all right?"

"Of course, Carl. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You did not come home last night at all. We were worried."

They had watched with amusement the dance that Louis and I had been engaged in for the past three years, but how would they feel, what would they think, when they discovered the Prefect of Police and their employer were now lovers?

I owed no one an explanation of where I spent the night, I assured myself. Not even the friends who depended on me for their livelihood. "Well, I'm home now," I said shortly, "and as you can see, I'm in one piece."

"Ja." He fiddled with the glass he was drying, and it was obvious something was troubling him. I waited for the words that would denounce me, concealing my physical discomfort and my emotional distress. When Carl finally confessed his concerns, it took me a full minute to realize my affair with the captain was not what was worrying him. "That Major Strasser is a fanatic. He is the kind who will follow even the most absurd, the most insane of orders!"

Especially if he was considering invading New York! I let out the breath I hadn't even been aware I'd been holding. "We'll just have to see what can be done about the good Major! I'll be in my rooms if anyone needs me."

"Very good, Herr Rick."

"Oh, and Carl, everyone stays on salary. We can manage for two weeks if I can't persuade Captain Renault to let me open sooner."

"Danke, Herr Rick. That will be appreciated."

He returned to deftly ordering about the day help who kept the cafe in tip top shape for the next evening's business. Just because we would not be opening that night did not mean everything should go to rack and ruin.

I went up to my rooms, the pull of muscles not used in such a long time a constant reminder of the previous night's activity. I was looking forward to soaking in a warm bath. And I would consider my next step carefully.

Although, more than anything, I wanted to be in Louis' bed once more, with him buried deep in my body. I sighed like a lovesick fool.

While the tub was filling, I stripped off my clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. A fresh change had been laid out for me, and I mentally thanked the little Austrian who not only kept my cafe in order, but my private rooms as well.

The bathroom was clouded with steam, and I turned off the faucets. I stepped into the warm water and settled back against the curve of porcelain. My eyes drifted shut; I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and the heat of my bath was enervating.

I slipped into an easy doze.

****

The water was cold. That was what woke me. That and the hand that was fondling my partially aroused prick. I groaned and thrust up into the grip.

"Do you like that, Richard?"

I bolted upright and sent a wave of water splashing over the side. "Ilsa!"

She smiled sadly. "We knew each other for such a short time in Paris, I never got to know what pleased you!"

"Did Victor send you here?"

She looked away, ill at ease. "Why do you suggest such a thing?"

"Victor told me it was under his orders that you arranged to meet me in Paris!"

Her lovely face paled and her eyes avoided mine. "Can you ever forgive me, Richard? I never meant to hurt you!"

"Ilsa," I said softly. "I know how difficult it is to refuse Victor Lazlo anything. And I realize now why I was so attracted to you."

"You do?" she asked uncertainly.

"Of course, it took Sam to point it out. He noticed the resemblance between you and Victor as soon as he saw the two of you together."

"And *you* never did?" she marveled.

I shrugged. "I just knew there was something about you that called to me. Something about your nose..."

Her slender fingers touched the patrician line of her nose. Her head bowed, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my hips, then knelt beside her. "Now, now." I tipped up her chin. "There's no need for tears."

"I'm sorry! I'm *so* sorry!" She wept elegantly, crystal drops hanging trembling on her lashes, neither her eyes nor her nose turning red.

"Ilsa..." I stroked her hair gently, but my mind was on the thick, dark hair of my lover. I leaned my head against hers and thought of the streaks of silver that wound through the strands above the Frenchman's temples.

Her arms went around me, heedless of the moisture that was saturating the slim white suit she wore. "I'm so tired of playing the whore for him!"

I flinched at those words and released her. "That's all I meant to you? Nothing more?" And I realized I meant nothing more to him either. My eyes burned as I thought of all the wasted years.

I had given my heart to a man who embraced the entire world, who could care for every last scrap of humanity, but not me alone.

And so, obviously, had Ilsa Lund.

****

She waited in the sitting room as I dressed. "Tell him to meet me here half an hour before the last plane for Lisbon."

"I *don't* want to leave with him, Richard. After the miscarriage..."

"*What*?" I burst into the other room.

"When I was ill, in Oran."

"You miscarried? Whose baby, Ilsa?"

"Does it matter?"

*Did* it matter? I no longer saw Ilsa and myself as star-crossed lovers, but I needed to know that I was not the only one poorly treated by my former lover. "I'd like to know, Ilsa."

She ran a distracted hand through her hair, freeing it from its anchors, and it feathered becomingly against her pale cheeks. "The leader of the underground in Prague needed a reward for his assistance in getting Victor out of that concentration camp."

"And you were that reward."

Ilsa stood by the window, staring blindly into the street below. "Of course Victor was overjoyed. He would have a son." Her fingers clenched the gauzy drapes. "It was poor timing. No one's fault, really. But the difficulty in traveling, the lack of food, the stress...By the time we got to Oran I was in almost constant pain. And then I lost her."

She caught my stunned expression.

"Oh yes, it would have been a little girl." She swallowed a sob. "I can't stay with him any longer, Richard. Surely you must see that! Please, you loved me once! Let me stay with you!"

Complications on top of complications. A week ago I would have killed to hear those words from her. Now...

She hurried on before I could reply. "I don't know what's right or wrong anymore, Richard! You must do the thinking for both of us!"

"You've been through a great deal, darling. Go back to your hotel room and rest. Give Victor my message." I ushered her to my door. "I'll take care of everything."

She paused half way down the stairs and turned to give me a wavering smile, then continued on her way.

I groaned under my breath as I saw Yvonne enter the cafe, looking first to the right and then the left, seeking someone. She crossed to the stairs and stopped as Ilsa reached the bottom.

The other woman said something quietly, and they both looked up at me. I stood motionless, waiting to see what would come of the confrontation.

Yvonne raised her hand, and I thought she meant to strike Ilsa. But she gently stroked her thumb across the Scandinavian beauty's cheek, capturing a last tear.

And brought it to her lips.

Part 29

Louis' POV

I remembered him.

He didn't think I had seen him, all those years ago, in Paris. When the Tiger was pinning that medal on my chest, the Palm d'Or winking in the pale sunlight. I had looked out over the small massing of soldiers and seen the young soldier Rick had been then.

He had watched with dark, shining eyes, dawning awareness in them. I marked his position, intending to find him.

And be the one to introduce him to the world of the senses.

But his battalion had been called up to the French-German border and he was gone before I could even discover his name.

I would have found him, nevertheless, but he had enlisted in a Canadian regiment, under a false name.

And then there was the Armistice and I never did see him again.

Until, three years before, he had strolled into my office and inquired about the permits necessary to open a saloon, as he called it, with a derogatory smile.

Rick's Cafe Americain had become as oasis for the refugees who poured into French Morocco. He dismissed himself as a hardheaded businessman, but he would have been wealthy enough to spend his days in idle leisure had he not aided those who came to him in need. A meal, a suit of clothes. Even an occasional exit visa, purchased himself from Ferrari, supposedly without my knowledge.

I watched him during those years, and lusted after him, making sure to keep him off balance enough that he never discovered my true intentions. I wanted that delectable ass of his, naked, in my bed, on a frequent basis.

Unfortunately, I hid my true intentions from myself as well, and it was only now that I realized I wanted more than simply sex.

And how close I was to losing...everything.

****

The huge doorman stood before my desk, his normally swarthy complexion a muddy olive. "Captain Renault, M'sieur Rick, he ask me to deliver this to you."

Abdul was an old acquaintance of mine. Before Rick had come to Casablanca, he had been in my jail so many times we had both lost count. A big man who saw no reason to control his temper, he had beaten quite a few men to a pulp, until finally, one day, he picked the wrong man to cross.

Rick had taken him apart with deceptive ease, and I had the privilege to watch. And then after the brawl, Rick had leaned down and offered the Arab a hand up. "I can use a guy like you in my joint," he told him, and from that moment, Abdul was his devoted servant.

I looked at the slip of folded paper he held out to me, and it began to tremble in his fingers. My gaze shot up to fasten on the black eyes of the big man. They were filled with misery, and sheened with tears he struggled desperately to keep from falling.

"Does he want a response?" I asked hoarsely.

Abdul shook his head and hurried out at my dismissal, relieved that I hadn't questioned him further. I turned the paper over in my hands, reluctant to open it.

But being with Rick had reminded me that once I had been more than just a corrupt public official.

I placed it carefully on my blotter and rose to go to my door. "Jacques, I have some important paperwork to catch up on. I will not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances. Comprennez?"

He signaled his understanding and I closed and locked my door. Then I went to the file cabinet that held the good whiskey and poured myself a stiff drink. I did not think that Rick Blaine was sending me the first in a series of love letters.

Unable to put it off any longer, I sat down and began to read it.

"Mon cher ami," it began.

"The time has come for me to bid adieu to your lovely city. I have enjoyed my stay in Casablanca immensely, but I was born under a wandering star, and I must move on..."

My eyes blurred and I blinked rapidly and bit my lip.

"The desire to see new places and meet new people has become overwhelming. And let's face it, Major Strasser is making the climate here too hot, even for me. Lieutenant Casselle has been so kind as to provide me with an exit visa, and I will be on the last plane for Lisbon tonight.

"Knowing you has been a pleasure, Louie, and I'll never forget you.

"Adieu."

I crumpled the paper in my hand and reared back in my chair. "*Jacques*!" I shouted.

The rattling of the doorknob reminded me that I had locked it. I strode over to it and flung it open.

"Oui, mon..."

My fist found his chin, and he staggered backwards. His feet flying out from under him, he landed heavily on the floor.

"Salop!" I hissed at him. "You gave Rick Blaine an exit visa to leave Casablanca?"

"Mais, oui, mon Capitaine. Why are you so angry? I thought you were no longer seeing Mam'selle Yvonne."

"Quoi? What are you talking about, Jacques?"

"M'sieur Blaine tell me that she want to go to Lisbon. I think, maybe, this is a good thing, she go and not be between you and M'sieur Rick."

"The exit visa was for Yvonne?"

"Mais oui. Who else would it be for?"

Who, indeed?

Part 30

They were sitting around me, the looks on their faces varying from shock, to disbelief, to sorrow.

"I ain't stayin', boss," Sam said flatly.

I ran a tired hand over my face. "This isn't something negotiable, Sam. Ferrari is willing to give you twenty-five per cent of the gross, in spite of the fact he knows I actually give you ten. Everyone else will be kept on, at double their salaries. Ferrari said it wouldn't be Rick's without Carl and Emil and Abdul. And you, Sascha."

"Well I *ain't* stayin'!"

"If Sam goes, *I* go!"

"Sascha...Sam..." I looked from one to the other helplessly.

"Uh oh."

"What? Oh *shit*." At the door, standing there rhythmically slapping his gloves against his left hand, was the Prefect of Police. Looking more furious than I had ever seen him look. And suddenly I was hot with desire. I wanted to take that sullen mouth and crush it under mine, parting the lips and delving inside to duel with his tongue.

And then I caught myself up short. What the hell was he doing here? The note I had spent all afternoon working on was not supposed to be delivered until after the last plane took off for Lisbon.

Maybe it was just because he missed me? I wouldn't mind having him in my bed one last time before I left Casablanca and all those I ... oh fuck it! *Loved*.

But Louis did not look as if taking me to bed was topmost in his mind. He stalked over to me, glowering at my staff. "I'm sure you gentlemen all have someplace else you need to be?"

"These are *my* people, Louie. Don't think you can go ordering them around!"

"And *I* am the Prefect of Police!"

They all left. Even Carl, that dignified little man, moving so quickly that in a lesser man it would have been a run.

Sam was the only one who remained. He sat himself down at his piano and began practicing a new tune.

"There's a line between love and fascination,

"That's hard to tell on an evening such as this..."

The melody was hauntingly sweet, and for a moment I was distracted.

Until a hand closed around my shirt front and gave me a shake. "What is the meaning of this?" Louis snarled, waving a piece of paper under my nose.

"I...don't know what you're talking about, Captain."

"This...this...this *fucking* dear Louis letter!"

Oh God. How had he gotten that letter? Carl promised me he would see it got to the Prefect of Police at the proper time.

"Do you think I'm one of your women who can be appeased with a few sweet words?"

I didn't remember writing sweet words. If anything, I had tried to be as snide as I could. I had spent hours finding the right tone and the exact turn of phrase guaranteed to make him glad to see the back of me.

Strasser would go after him when he learned that Victor Lazlo had managed to get his hands on those letters of transit and left Casablanca. I needed to be certain Louis Renault would be in no danger from the German officer.

*Snide*, I reminded myself. Careless. Unconcerned. A notch in my bedpost.

I hated myself.

I shook out a cigarette and lit it casually. "Well, obviously, you're not one of my women, Louie. For one thing, they at least know when the party's over."

"*What*?" His face became alarmingly purple.

"Listen, it was fun. We had a few laughs, but it's over now. Strasser is going to be looking for whoever gave Victor Lazlo exit visas, and I don't intend for him to find me!"

"Sticking your neck out for no man. Correct, my dear Ricky?"

"You bet your ass, Louie." I drew in a deep breath of smoke. I could do this. Yes, I could. "So, if that's all, I'll just finish packing. And you don't need to worry; Ferrari will keep our bargain: you keep winning at roulette."

I thought I would make it to the stairs. My heart felt as if it had been torn from my chest and left a huge, gaping hole. I wanted to howl with anguish.

Sam was singing the final lines of the song.

"For this time it isn't fascination, or a dream that will fade and fall apart.

"It's love, this time it's love my foolish heart!"

Yes, it was love. And I lost again...

Louis' fingers clamped on my upper arm and spun me around. His hand shoved hard at my chest, forcing me backwards with each word, with each thrust.

"I have never heard such arrant nonsense before. If you can't think of anything better to do with your mouth, than I *can*!"

My head banged back against the wall and then he was flush against me, his prick an iron bar wedged between us. His mouth was a brand of heat searing my lips. A soft moan whispered from deep in my throat, and he captured it and gave it back to me. I shuddered as his hands wound in my hair, holding my head immobile for his punishing kiss, his grip almost painful.

Somehow my arms were around him, sliding down to grasp his buttocks and pull him closely to my own rampant prick. "One last time, Louis! I need you to fuck me one last time!"

He forced me to look into his eyes as he shook his head. "It won't be the last time. I won't let you sacrifice yourself for..."

I rubbed open-mouthed kisses along his throat. "I've *got* to leave Casablanca, Louis! I *won't* risk you, you *have* to understand that!"

"Explain to me why, browneyes."

Was he out of his mind? Didn't he realize how it was tearing me apart to do the right thing? "That girl Annina was right, the devil has the people by the throat, and the problems of two people don't matter a hill of beans in this crazy world, Louis! If I stay, Strasser will ruin you, and you'll wind up hating me. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life! I couldn't bear that, Louis! I couldn't..." Desperately I took his mouth.

"Um, boss?"

Dazed and still lost in a fog of desire, I looked toward my friend. I had forgotten he was even there. "Sam?"

"We got company, boss."

"I seem to be interrupting, Richard!"

Standing in the doorway, looking for all the world like a man who had overturned a rock and didn't like what he had found there, was Victor Lazlo.

Part 31

"Victor, please!" Ilsa came to stand next to him, her hand gentling on his arm.

"You don't understand, Ilsa. He's *mine*! From the very first, he was mine! I won't let anyone else have him!"

I stood staring, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. This was a side of Victor I had never seen before.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, took him in her arms, calming him. "It's all right, Victor. You still have me!"

Yvonne raised her hand in protest to that, then dropped it, unobserved by the man and the woman before her. Her eyes grew bitter.

"Herr Rick! Herr Rick! You must leave! *At once*!" Carl was almost beside himself with worry. "I have just received word that Major Strasser is on his way here!"

I thought of the friends I had made in my years at Casablanca, those good friends. A final farewell. But there was no time even for that. I stole one last kiss from the man who was not my first love, but would be my last.

"I have a car waiting, Herr Rick." Carl thrust my valise at me. "Please, you must hurry!"

Numbly, I took it. I herded the three out of the Cafe Americain and into the roadster that was sitting out front, the engine idling. To my surprise, Lieutenant Casselle was in the driver's seat. I folded back the front seat, and Yvonne, Ilsa and Victor climbed in.

I let the seat bounce back and slid in, slamming the car door. A corresponding slam from the driver's side caught my attention.

"Louis!"

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Do you think I'm about to let you go, just like that? I'll drive you to the airfield!"

The little car jerked and whined as the gears clashed, and then began to roll forward more smoothly.

Furious whispers came from the back seat. "Ilsa, you do not love him! You told me so! Do I mean nothing to you, then?" Yvonne wept.

"Please understand, my dearest one. He needs me, he needs my help with his work!"

"But he doesn't love you!"

Ilsa had no reply to that. I glanced over my shoulder to see Victor glaring stonily at the blur of passing streets and shuttered bazaar.

Sorrow swept through me, for Ilsa, for myself. Ilsa was about to throw away her life on a man who couldn't love anything more than an abstract idea.

I was about to say good-bye to someone who.... I chopped off the thought and returned to stare out the windscreen.

****

The fog was settling in on the cool North African night. It would be touch and go for that last plane, and I shuddered. I hated flying.

Louis pulled up outside the transport hangar. He hailed the uniformed orderly. "What are the flight conditions?"

"Visibility is one and a half miles, Captain. Ceiling is unlimited. The plane should depart in ten minutes!"

"Well, Louis, I guess this is the end of a beautiful friendship."

"Oh, I rather doubt that, Ricky!"

"Huh?"

Taking the letters of transit from my slack grip, he began to fill in the names. "This will make it more official, you know." He smiled.

"Louis!" I had to tell him how I felt, to at least give him that.

"Yes?" he responded eagerly.

The squeal of brakes disrupted our moment. "Arrest these people! Immediately!" Major Strasser bounded out of the sedan that was crowded with Frenchmen.

The Prefect of Police wiped his face smooth of all expression. "Major Strasser! What a delightful surprise!"

"Is it, Renault? I think not!"

"You wound me, my dear Major! Er, may one ask what has brought you to the airfield, this time of night?"

Strasser sneered at him. "You are not as well-loved as you seem to think, Captain!"

"Really?" Louis turned to me. "Rick, you do not love me? Oh, I am devastated!"

The German's face became flushed. "Of course I did not mean the American, you fool! Your own Sergeant Lejaune was most pleased to come to me with the news that his Captain planned to betray the Third Reich! He will be rewarded for his action!"

"*Oh, indeed he will*!" the Prefect of Police vowed under his breath. "Well, I'm afraid you're too late, Major. I have filled out the letters of transit and these people have every right to leave."

"Not while there is a breath left in my body!" Strasser growled.

"That can be very simply dealt with!" I said flatly. Strasser suddenly found himself staring at my revolver.

"Renault, shoot him! I will forget this unpleasantness if you shoot him!"

"Oh, I cannot possibly do that, Major. I've grown rather fond of him, you see!"

"Arrest him!" Strasser screamed in a frenzy. "He had the letters of transit all along! Arrest your Captain! Arrest everyone here!"

The Frenchman stood casually watching the German officer.

Casselle turned to Louis. "Mon Capitaine, perhaps it is best we search for some suspects. It is quite obvious to me that M'sieur Rick has been the target of foul rumors. We will find who has done this!"

At his Captain's nod, he saluted snappily and led his men away.

Major Strasser resembled nothing so much as a rabid dog; froth ringed his mouth.

"Treason! Treason!" He struggled to free his pistol from his coat pocket and waved it wildly.

Three shots rang out, almost simultaneously. Two precise bullet holes appeared in Strasser's chest, one just millimeters above the other. The third was centered neatly between his eyes.

My heart was pumping erratically, and tremors shook my legs. I hadn't fired a gun in longer than I cared to think. If I had missed... If Louis had taken the bullet the German so clearly meant for him...

I slumped bonelessly against the orderly's desk. A pair of strong arms went around me, holding me up. Soft, comforting words whispered in my ear. I looked into Louis' dark brown eyes, so close to my own tormented ones. "I could have lost you! Oh God, Louis, you could have died!"

"I'm fine, cher ami. I am fine!" He holstered his service pistol.

My hand wrapped around the base of his skull and pulled his face even closer. I forgot the bystanders and kissed him fiercely.

"Who fired the third shot?" Victor asked, determined to intrude on our interlude.

Yvonne unobtrusively tucked away her tiny handgun.

"I did, M'sieur Lazlo," a male voice responded.

"Berger!"

The Norwegian nodded grimly. "I could not take the chance that you might be harmed."

"You will need to leave Casablanca, M'sieur Berger," the Prefect of Police said calmly, reluctantly releasing me. "I just happen to have an additional exit visa. While I fill in your name, I suggest you contact the next in your chain of command and inform him you will now be assisting the illustrious Victor Lazlo!"

Berger went to the telephone and after a series of passwords, was finally put in touch with the woman who would succeed him.

While he was busy arranging the transfer of control of his organization, Louis was whistling for his men.

"Lieutenant Casselle, Major Strasser has been shot! This is a disaster, and the Third Reich will not be pleased!"

Casselle grinned at his superior. The German had not endeared himself to the free French. "What do you want me to do, mon Capitaine?"

Louis looked at him as if he was dimwitted. "Round up *twice* the number of usual suspects!"

"Oui. And Captain Renault, may I say what a pleasure it has been working with you?" He embraced the older man and turned sharply on his heel, signaling his men to follow.

"What was that all about?" I asked him.

"One moment, Ricky. M'sieur Lazlo, Berger will accompany you to Lisbon. He will become your right-hand man, replacing Miss Lund. She is in need of rest after the impossible pressures of the last few months. Yvonne will see to all her needs. I assume Ricky did not take the hundred thousand francs for the letters of transit?"

Victor shook his head, stunned at the rapid change of events.

"I thought not. You *are* a romantic, Rick! Very well, Lazlo, you should have enough cash to see to your needs in Portugal. Yvonne, this is a small token from both Rick and myself, for saving the great enjoyment of your company." He handed her a fat envelope. "Ah, M'sieur Berger, all is in order? Splendid. You have no qualms about accompanying Victor Lazlo?"

"Captain Renault, the Hero of Czechoslovakia needs a strong man to guard his back. I am honored to be chosen!"

I saw the look in his eyes. He was more than honored. He was in love.

Yvonne and Ilsa hurried to the plane, whose engines were revving up. Berger waited respectfully while Victor and I said our last good-byes.

"I did love you, Richard. If you believe nothing else, I hope you will believe that." He leaned forward to kiss me, and I turned my head slightly, just enough so his kiss landed on my cheek instead of my mouth.

"Good-bye, Victor. God speed."

"Please, M'sieur." Berger took his arm. "We must hurry. I will provide you with everything you need. You will see. A woman cannot possibly give you what I can!"

They walked away, into the fog, and I waited to see if Victor would look back, just one last time.

He never did

Part 32

I stood there stupidly, watching the plane take off.

"Wait a minute! I'm supposed to be on that plane!"

"Oh, no, Ricky. You were *never* supposed to leave me!"

****

We drove back to Louis' quarters and I followed him up to his rooms. "Now, what?" I asked grimly. "I can't stay here. You would be endangered because of me."

"Oh, I agree one hundred per cent, Rick." His eyes had turned suddenly hot. "Take your clothes off."

"Louis..."

"Don't make me have to tell you twice!" He tossed his jaunty cap onto an occasional table and began to unbutton his dark blue uniform jacket.

I licked my lips and sent my hat sailing to join his.

Next he slid his arms through his braces and allowed them to dangle while he removed his tie and shirt.

I wore a suit jacket, so he was one up on me. I shed it quickly and stripped off my own shirt and tie.

For each article of clothing he took off, I did the same.

And soon we were naked before each other.

He came forward, and his lips were hot and moist against mine. I held myself still, waiting for him to make the next move, desire a volcano of heat that settled heavily in my prick.

His arms swept me into a hard embrace, and I felt his arousal nudge my groin. "On the bed, Ricky."

I backed away, then climbed onto his bed and knelt, shivers of passion coursing through me.

"No," he said softly. "On your back. I want to see your face when I make you come!"

I obeyed his request and lay back, propped up on my elbows to better observe him. My prick was so hard the slightest breeze would have driven me toward climax. Clear drops of precome were oozing out to trickle leisurely down my shaft.

And then Louis pounced. His mouth was on me, and his tongue lapped at me as if I was a delicacy he could not deny himself.

With a surprised shout, I began to pour myself down his throat, and he swallowed greedily. When I had no more to give, he sat back on his heels and smiled lazily at me, wiping off his mouth. He was still hard.

"Louis..."

"Now it's my turn, my dear Rick!" He took out a jar of cold cream and began to cover his length with it, then scooped up a finger and parted my cheeks, stroking across my opening.

I hooked my arms under my knees and lay back, exposing my needy hole to him. His finger pressed in, and I shuddered. In spite of the fact that I had just come, my prick began to harden again.

He eased in a second finger and this time found the spot that made me beg. "Please, Louis, don't fuck with me!"

"Oh?" I could hear the smile in his voice, although when I looked, his face was rather strained. "Would you rather I stop?"

I clenched my inner muscles, squeezing his fingers punishingly. "If you stop, I might have to shoot you, Louis! Now stop fucking around, and *fuck* me!"

He removed his fingers and the broad head of his prick began to push slowly into me.

His shoulders forced my legs even further back, and my body was bowed. He leaned down and captured my lips in a ravishing kiss. His tongue in my mouth mimicked the actions of his prick in my ass.

I tried to thrust back onto him, wanting to feel the weight of his balls banging against my crack. The hair at his groin rasped along the length of my prick, causing me to grow harder.

His movements became more rapid, and I groaned around the thick tongue in my mouth and sucked feverishly. He reached down to take me in his calloused hand, and the friction drove me wild.

With a deep groan, Louis raised his head and locked his eyes with mine. He began to come, the heat of his orgasm setting me on fire. The sight of him climaxing was all I needed to trigger me, and I spilled into his waiting hand.

Minutes passed while I struggled to catch my breath. My legs had become stiff, and it was painful to settle them on either side of his legs. His prick was still within me, half hard, and I relished the feeling.

"I love you, Louis. I'll love you forever."

His mustache twitched. I had never seen him look quite that satisfied. "Well. It's about time!"

****

There wasn't time for a leisurely bath. We sponged clean and dressed hastily. There were still enough Germans in Casablanca to make our lives difficult.

"One thing, Louie. Just because I let you fuck me stupid, doesn't mean you don't still owe me ten thousand francs!"

"I'm afraid I can't give it to you, Rick."

"Come on, Louis, I wasn't born yesterday. I know you're rolling in dough!"

"Well, I'm ten thousand poorer today than I was yesterday. I gave that to Yvonne."

I shut my mouth on the cutting remark I was going to make before he told me that. "Damn! Just when I think I know you, you go and do something noble!"

"Thank you for that, Rick, for thinking I might be a good man." He kissed me.

"Hey," I said uneasily, "don't go getting soft on me, Louis."

"Never that, Rick. Never fear." But I saw the sheen in his eyes.

"What will you do now, Louis?" I asked, enchanted that I had touched him. I knotted my tie and shrugged into my jacket.

He cleared his throat and poured himself a glass of water, from a bottle labeled *Vichy*. With a curl of his lip, he dropped the bottle into the wastebasket and kicked it aside.

"You seem to have made *me* a patriot, as well as yourself, Ricky."

The corner of my mouth curled into a grin. "It seemed like a good time to start."

"There's a Free French garrison at Brazzaville. I *could* be induced to arrange passage for you."

"Just me?" I went very still.

"Actually, I rather thought I would accompany you." He nodded toward the door and followed me out into the damp night. I got in the little roadster. My grip was already stowed in the back seat. Louis tossed his in to join it.

And then he said it, very quietly. "I love you, Rick."

He got behind the wheel and started us on the journey to Brazzaville.

****

"Rick!"

I pulled my undershirt on before leaving our shared quarters. "Yeah, Louis? What is it?"

"We have company!"

At the bottom of the stairs stood Carl. "I hope you don't mind we join you, Herr Rick?"

"We?"

Emil and Abdul came to stand next to the little Austrian. And then Sascha appeared, flashing me a shy smile.

But if Sascha was here, where was... And then I heard the tinkling of the piano, and a well remembered voice.

"And when two lovers woo
"They still say 'I love you'
"On that you can rely,
"No matter what the future brings
"As time goes by!"

~End~

Note: Eddie Bartlett and George Hally are characters from the movie, The Roaring Twenties, played respectively by Jimmy Cagney and Bogie.

Note. Do It Again is an actual song from that period and the lyrics quoted are as accurate as memory, and Carol Channing, can make 'em.

Note. The combination to Eddie Bartlett's wall safe is actually Humphrey Bogart's birthdate.

Note: Lyrics this time are from Never Gonna Dance from the movie Swingtime.

Note: Also, from here on there will be frequent quotes directly taken from the script.

Note: And just as an aside, I haven't been able to find out the color of Claude Rains' eyes. If they aren't brown, that's my error.

Note: Song Lyrics, I Only Have Eyes For You, by Ben Selvin.

Note: song lyrics are It Had to Be You and some song Sam sang in the Cafe, but I have no clue who wrote it, or what it's called, unless it's Though My Hair is Curly.

Notes: A baccarat shoe is the box that contains the eight decks of cards that are used in the game. The dealer draws the cards from it and deals them to the players. The song Knock on Wood is from the movie and is performed much as I describe it.

Note: song lyrics to Blue Champagne. This was in the top 40 in September 1941

Note: Sergeant Lejaune belongs to Percival Christopher Wren, author of Beau Geste. He will meet his end in the desert, and will lie like a dog at the feet of a hero being given a Viking's funeral.

Note: Song lyrics, La Marseillaise, translation done by Iain Patterson. Thanks to Silk for providing the location of the website, and to Gail, as always, for the formatting. Apologies for my butchering of the German lines, which are taken from the movie Stalag 17.

Note: song lyrics, My Foolish Heart, covered by numerous and varied artists. I'm not sure if this is germane to the 40s, but it seemed appropriate. And sincere apologies to Howard Koch for putting my own spin on his fabulous lines.

Note: Braces, in this context, are suspenders. Song lyrics, one last time. As Time Goes By