A/N: A short prequel to the film Casablanca.
Undertones
Whack.
The sound of the flyswatter dispatching another fly echoed throughout the Moroccan bar and social hall known as the Blue Parrot. The wielder of the insect squashing device was the owner of the business, Signor Alberto Ferrari. To the casual eye he was just a large man dressed in a white Panama-style suit and fez cap ridding the room of pests; in actuality, he was carefully scanning the rooms he traveled through, monitoring his customers' activities.
Whack.
That some of those activities were of questionable legality he was certain; his concern was only to make sure that nothing too egregious transpired that would reflect on his establishment. He moved with ease around tables and chairs, through bead curtains and more than one hidden doorway. Even in a small gambling room in the back that had no windows and where the only movement away from the card table was a slowly-turning ceiling fan, the late September day in 1940 was very hot.
Whack.
Ferrari looked over the table and left, making a mental note of which players had accumulated the most chips to that point. It was early in the day, and although he didn't have a player at the table he certainly had an interest in what drinks, food and cigarettes they consumed while trying to cheat each other out of whatever money they had brought. The house always won in the end, no matter which player had been lucky on that particular day. He was browsing his stockroom when one of his young new employees entered.
"Boss, the prefect is here to see you" he announced nervously.
"Calm yourself, Benemar. I have told you before, as a successful businessman I have a great respect and admiration of the local police and enjoy good relations with them. Please tell him I will be out in a moment and offer him any refreshment he desires." The worker hurried out and Ferrari finished looking over the latest shipment from Oran and unhurriedly made his way out to the front and into the main room.
Captain Louis Renault, Chief of Police of Casablanca and figurehead of the Vichy French sat at a table somewhat off to one side of the center of the room. His seating placement was carefully considered; not so far to one side that it looked like he wanted to speak privately, but at the same time far enough away from the nearest occupied tables that a private conversation could be had. A pleasant innocuous conversation could be had with more serious undertones that would remain unspoken. Ferrari gave the man credit; as corrupt policemen went the man was intelligent, modest, and kept as low a profile as possible while riding the turbulent waves that were the politics of the times. Paris had fallen to the Germans, but so far only Herr Heinz of the Third Reich was a reminder that the Fatherland was trying to stretch its reach over Africa as well as Europe. At least Renault could be bought off to a degree, as long as it didn't violate whatever undisclosed personal and professional code he had; there was no such possibility with the Germans as far as Ferrari could determine.
"Captain Renault, a pleasure as always" Ferrari said as he approached the table. "Would you mind if I sit with you?"
"The pleasure is all mine Signor Ferrari, please be my guest" Renault invited as he waved at the other chair.
Whack.
Ferrari sat after scooping the dead fly away. "Sorry I was detained, I was in the stockroom. Does your drink need refreshing?"
"No, my mineral water is fine thank you" he answered. Oddly, it seemed to be a mineral water that reeked of alcohol. "I am happy to see business is good, Signor. I am reminded that it was nearly ten years ago you came to Casablanca with little more than the clothes on your back and a dream. You are to be congratulated." He raised his glass in an informal toast and took a sip.
In a sense it was true, much like the fact that Renault's drink did contain some mineral water. Ferrari had arrived ten years ago, escaping an Italy that was turning increasingly Fascist and a fiancé that was fanatically embracing the movement. He however had no love for any particular political viewpoint, preferring to concentrate on amassing his own business empire. Running afoul of a local city politician, he was forced to flee the well-connected man and arrived in Casablanca with a price on his head if he should step on Italian soil again. His dream was to take the large roll of cash he had hidden in his coat lining and build his empire free from politics. So naturally the first step was to financially secure the good graces of the local police. The then fresh-faced Lieutenant Renault was receptive to his offer, and together they both prospered.
"The congratulations are not mine alone, for Casablanca is an island of justice and stability thanks in great part to the tireless work of the local police" Ferrari offered back. Renault was a true patriot, and really did believe that a stable city would help the French cause. His vices were few, but Ferrari knew that women figured in most of them. If it could be arranged for the prefect to have more than average luck at games of chance or access to certain luxury goods that were beneficial at wooing various lady friends on occasion, it was a small price that Ferrari just figured in as an operating expense. And if Ferrari came across information about a competing black-market businessman and it somehow fell into the hands of an eager to be promoted Renault, then why shouldn't they both benefit? Other smaller operators like Signor Ugarte offered no real competition and were encouraged to pick up what crumbs they could from the fringe customers.
Renault leaned back. "We strive for just such an environment, and want Casablanca to be a showcase for not only Africa but the world; it's exciting to see it opening up to become a leading market." A leading market for black-market goods, banned imports and exports, exit visas for the increasing tide of fleeing Europeans, and of course all the currency trading that made such transactions possible. Ferrari had a hand in much of the black market, and his Blue Parrot was a perfect blend of legitimate saloon and hub of more illicit business.
Whack.
But even with all that, Ferrari wasn't satisfied. He had a sizable bank account, connections that could get him any goods he wanted, and a very nice house. But what he wanted was a respectability that still eluded him. He wanted to be looked up to not as someone who was rich and powerful, but as someone who exuded class. Try as he might, it seemed just out of reach because he was missing something.
Clunk.
That fly got away. As he watched it fly off his eyes fell on the whole of the room and he could feel the inadequacy. His place was nice, but it wasn't classy. He sighed and returned his thoughts to Renault. "Thank you again for the congratulations Captain Renault, but was that the reason you stopped by today? Perhaps we'll see you tonight with a special lady?"
Renault laughed "Not tonight, I have to babysit Herr Heinz with some new 'suggestions' on how to monitor subversive elements." They both laughed. "No, I just came to ask a question. My department has become aware of inquiries from an American named Rick Blaine. Have you heard of him?"
"No, can't say I have" Ferrari said as he searched his memory. "Should I have?"
"Not necessarily. It seems he's been run out of Paris by the Germans too, and is looking to set up a bar in Casablanca when he arrives. We have no information on him yet and I thought you might have heard of him."
"I've never done business with the man, but if he comes to Casablanca then I no doubt believe we shall cross paths. Casablanca can always use another honest businessman." They both laughed again and Renault excused himself. Ferrari remained sitting and pondered just what his life was missing.
Whack.
The End
A/N: Sydney Greenstreet's character was minor in the film, but as friendly business rivals he and Humphrey Bogart's Rick would have had much more interaction than was shown on screen. It seemed to me that Ferrari was there first and realized in seeing Rick's café just what a classy establishment was really like and it would be one of the main reasons he was so eager to purchase it. Also, he would have had a professional veneer that would cover a great deal of activity that was hidden away, the business equivalent of an iceberg.