The Start and End of a Beautiful Friendship
Well, this is the first time I've ever written a fanfiction for a movie with no book. I don't expect many reviews on this piece (not that many of my works have been inordinately successful before this) but it should be satisfying to me. I never can stand it until the angst-ridden, heart-broken characters are good and dead. Not that I dislike them. No, I like them immensely. But there had to have been something after Casablanca, really. I'm surprised that no one has made a sequel to it yet in the commercial movie industry. Even more surprised that there is so little under the ' Casablanca' tab on Here is my addition. May it be a long and good one. Oh, I didn't write Casablanca. I am not affiliated in any way with it except through this FANfiction. Etc., etc. Have a nice day, don't pester me with your bastard lawyers!
The beads of the Blue Parrot jangled conversationally, and the portly Signor Ferrari almost had a heart attack.
"You've not left?"
A grinning Rick Blaine met his gaze, though the other man's expression might also have doubly coined as a 'sad smile.'
"Not yet, Ferrari."
One. Two. Three slow paces to the table at which the squinting Spaniard rested. But was he really Spanish? Rick had never been able to tell.
"I want my saloon back."
The words, spoken so decisively and precisely, cut through the usual hubbub of the café like a sword thrust into the blazing sand of the Sahara.
"I do not know," the broader man suggested, resting a thick finger on his chin, "That it can be arranged."
One. Two. Three bills with an impossible sum printed on each soon lay on the table.
"Every cent you gave me. Now you know I hate to be an Indian-giver, Ferrari, but every man's got to have a livelihood."
Ferrari grimaced. "So you are not leaving Casablanca? You will stay in Morocco?"
With a shrug of his shoulders, Blaine nonchalantly replied. "Why not?"
"But what of Laszlo? What of the lady?"
"Out of my life again, where they ought'a be."
Sighing, Ferrari closed his eyes. "I will not be manipulated. You sold to me your very good saloon, and I am keeping it under my eye. If you want it back, well . . . that is your problem."
Click-clock. Ferrari's brows shot up the front of his face as he realized a pistol pointed at his quite ample stomach.
"Give me the deed, Ferrari. And don't think I wouldn't shoot you." Not that he would, of course. That would come to be a total of two shootings to cover up in one night, and Louis would not appreciate the gesture. But Rick was not about to say anything to that accord in front of the other man.
Just as he suspected, Ferrari was the type to squirm.
"Let us not now be so rash, Rick. You say you want the deed, but I did not say I should not give it to you." The wealthy, corpulent man now shivered with fear.
"Hold the double negative, Ferrari, and maybe you got a deal."
"Here is the deed!" The Moorish Spaniard reached in his pocket and threw a thick wad of folded paper on the table.
The gun went back in Rick's pocket, but only after the deed preceded it.
"Well, so long. Nice doing business with you."
With as much, Rick strolled out of the café, apparently without a care in the world. Ferrari could almost hear the smirking whistling of his rival.
"Damn it!"
Ferrari threw his cap to the ground.
Whoa. That was . . . short. Ok, so it was a prologue. Please leave a review if you read. Cheers!
