A/N: There is no diagram or map of Rick's Café from "Casablanca," and in the scene where Ugarte runs from the police, there are several times where it's unclear exactly what rooms he is running through. So I was forced to hazard at some guess work.

I do not own "Casablanca."

Chapter 10: Ugarte's Arrest

Signor Ugarte's death is wrought with conflicting rumors. The two most popular theories are that he "committed suicide," or "died trying to escape" (from prison). Some simply say that he was "taken away and never heard from again." Others still insist he was murdered in prison; either by inmates in a brawl, or by an over-enthusiastic interrogator. A few who liked him sometimes joke that he isn't dead at all, and that he escaped by convincing the guards to release him using his big, innocent eyes. Or that he couldn't die because he was already dead all along, a ghoul like Count Dracula.

They say that his mistress feinted when she learned he was dead. Or that she feinted right when he was taken away by the police. There's one very sweet story about him dying romantically in her arms. On the other hand, some say that Ugarte was a crook so despised by everyone in Casablanca, that his own mistress simply went through his pockets after he was killed.

Seeing as I was his mistress, and that I was with him his final night, I think that if someone should set the record straight it should be me.

After Ugarte left Casablanca for his "trip," the next few days were relaxing and dull for me. It gave both of us the time to put our latest feud behind us, and start fresh when he returned. Yvonne and I went shopping in the market with Carmen and Rita, for some new jewelry and dresses. I drew a sketch of all us women, and made a note to add in Brigitte next time I could get her to pose. I listened to current events on the news: updates on the war in Europe; weather forecasts; the murder of two German couriers in a nearby city; and a financial scandal involving some local politician I didn't care about.

Yvonne and I were cleaning up breakfast when a hard knock at the door made us both look up. I figured I knew who it was, and set down the dish I was washing. No sooner was the door a crack opened than Ugarte snaked inside and quickly shut it behind him.

"The police might be here soon," he warned, bolting the door. "You must tell them I've been here all night." His voice was low and serious.

"What?" I exclaimed.

By the sink, Yvonne groaned, holding her head. "Sofie…"

Whatever danger he was in, it was real—at least in his own mind—and not another one of his "adventure" stories. He'd probably been seen stealing or forging some visas, and was overacting about it. It probably wasn't the police themselves he was afraid of; he was probably afraid of the Fat Man learning he'd attracted the police. ("The Fat Man" was what many of the crooks, and by extension their friends and mistresses, called Signor Ferrari behind his bulbous back.)

I sighed. "Ugarte, go to Pepe and Carmen's house why don't you. I'll tell the police you were cheating on me with the two of them, and they'll ask no more questions after that."

He shook his head. "Too far away."

Ugarte hurried into the bedroom, and began pulling off his shoes. He then pulled something out of his coat pocket—visas it looked like—and stuck them under my mattress. I sighed again and rolled my eyes to Yvonne, hoping to convey that I was just as irritated with my lover as she was. Ugarte tossed the suit coat and pants to the floor, and wrinkled them up with his foot for good measure. Then, in his underpants and buttoned shirt, he dove into my covers.

His muffled voice ordered, "Just tell them I've been asleep this entire morning."

Yvonne came up next to me, resting her arm on the bedroom doorframe. "You really are a rat, Monsieur Ugarte. Sofie can't have the police coming after her! She's had so many close calls already!"

I shook my head. "They might not even come, Yvonne. He thinks all of his schemes are a hundred and ten times more devious than they really are."

Under the blankets, Ugarte muttered something to himself in Italian.

Yvonne didn't like it. "Sofie, I can tolerate your having a pet rat, but can't he at least be an outdoor pet?"

"Ah, what can you do." I shrugged. "He's like a cat, just comes and goes as he pleas—"

Another knock at the door made us both stop dead. It was a short, trained knock, like a policeman's.

Yvonne muttered, "Qui a été rapide." (That was quick.)

Wearing a mask of calm innocence, I answered the door. It was Captain Renault, accompanied by two French police officers. I'd been expecting one or Renault's policeman, the captain himself. Perhaps that little squirt Ugarte really had done something big, after all! Renault seemed amused by the honest surprise on our faces.

"Excuse me Mademoiselle," Renault looked over me to my roommate. "Hello Yvonne."

Yvonne raised one eyebrow, and replied flatly. "Hello, Louie."

Just those four words, and the expressions on their faces, suddenly revealed everything to me.

Oh please, him too Yvonne?

"I'm so sorry to bother you ladies in the middle of the morning." Renault's gentlemanly smile didn't conceal the ungentlemanly looks he was giving us (both in our nightgowns). "I am looking for a Signor Ugarte. I got word he was friends with one of you, and heard me might be here."

I looked back at the bedroom. "Yes, he's here. He's been here since last night."

Louie's dark eyebrows went up. "Ooo, Ugarte is a lucky man! Ugarte," the Frenchman strode into the apartment and came to a stop in front of the bedroom door. "Signor Ugarte!" He rapped a gloved hand on the doorframe.

Ugarte made a raspy whimper, which was hard for me not to laugh at, and poked his head out of the sheets. "Oh….yes?"

"Ugarte, I wondered if I might have a word with you," the French officer said innocently. "Just a few routine questions. It seems two German couriers were found murdered this morning, en route to Casablanca. You wouldn't happen to have been anywhere near the train from Oran within the last few days?"

Oran. I'd heard that city's name recently, just in the last day or so. It was probably going to drive me crazy for the rest of the day, trying to recall where.

"Oran?" Ugarte blinked. "No…no. I was visiting a friend, over in Rabat."

"Rabat." Louie clasped his hands behind him and rolled his eyes vacantly, as if reliving some fond memory. "Lovely city. You didn't by chance get a look at the Palace of Dar El Makhzen, did you?"

"Oh, yes!" Ugarte grinned. "We didn't go inside, but my friend and his wife stopped their car nearby, so we could have a look. Beautiful work architecture."

"Very beautiful." Renault agreed. "Well, if that's that, then I'll just be on my way. Thank you for your time Signor Ugarte."

"Louie," Yvonne stepped forward. "That is, Captain Renault. You didn't happen to see Rick last night, did you? He was supposed to meet me for supper but never showed."

"Rick…oh yes, I did see Rick!" Louie's eyes contorted into an apologetic expression. "I'm afraid to say I saw him with a lady, an Italian woman with a very attractive beauty mark. Oh, but I'm sure she was only a friend. You know how Rick is, wanting to make sure all of his customers get home safe and sound after night falls."

Yvonne stared ahead coldly. With her fists clenched at her sides, she replied icily, "Yes. I do know. Thank you Louie."

Renault was smiling far too widely when he and his men left the apartment. As soon as the door closed, I sighed once again, running a hand through my hair. "Guillermo, I'm certainly glad that you and Renault are friends. I doubt any other policeman would have believed your pitiful story."

"I should say." Yvonne put her hands on her hips. "Ugarte, you do realize that the Dar El Makhzen palace is in Tangier, not Rabat?"

Ugarte pushed up the covers and sat up, looking upset with himself. He cursed in Hungarian.

I groaned again, dropping my face into my hands. "Ugarte, whatever you did, I only hope you have money for to bail yourself out of jail."

Ugarte shook his head. "It's nothing. If Louie asks again at Rick's today, I'll just tell him I was tired, and had it confused with a different castle."

I shook my head. "Better that you should stay here, Guillermo. At least until I come home from work. You can afford yourself one day off."

"I don't want your crook in here all day, Sofie." Yvonne grumbled, and she went to finish the dishes.

"Don't worry Yvonne, I won't." Ugarte assured my roommate. "I've got important business to attend to today." He stretched, catlike. "I'll be at Rick's tonight Sofie, but I won't much be able to socialize. But maybe after my business is complete, we can head down to the Blue Parrot to celebrate, huh?"

"Celebrate what?" I was rubbing my eyes. "Your stupidest adventure story yet? 'I toured a castle in Rabat that's not even in Rabat!'" I marched around the kitchen, waving my hands enthusiastically. "'I made the entire palace appear out of the air, with magical warlock powers! Poof! Just lifted it from Tangier over to Rabat! So is the way I get all of the visa papers I deal out, that's my secret!'"

Yvonne and Ugarte were both laughing when I'd finished.

Shaking his head, Ugarte said, "I'll tell you it later, Sofie. It's a story I think you'll like very much. But not right now."

"Fine, fine. Have it your own way."

When he thought it was safe, Ugarte re-dressed himself and put the visas back into an inner suit pocket. He had his hand on the door, ready to leave, then stopped himself. Slowly he turned back to me.

"Sofie, I think I better tell you this now."

I sensed this was something serious. Yvonne did too.

"Should I give you two a moment alone?" she offered.

"No, no," Ugarte said. "You'll like this news Yvonne. But it may leave your friend with a bit of a heartbreak." Touching my cheek he confessed, "I'm leaving Casablanca, Sofie."

I swallowed, feeling myself fall inside. "That was always the plan."

"Tonight will be my last night at Rick's Café. Tonight, I make my last business transactions. Oh, don't worry about your friend, the Gypsy girl and her husband. I'll be staying around a few days longer, just for my customers who are waiting on deals from me. I always keep my word about my deals."

I smiled weakly. "Then, you'll keep your word about us…being in America, together? After I get there with my sister and her children?"

That raspy chuckle. "I think you're the only girl in America or Casablanca who would want me to say 'yes' to that. Of course I'll wait for you Sofia."

My heart sank more, as I realized what a lie this was. He couldn't even "wait for me" when I was "unavailable" for one night. He'd probably be swarming in mistresses or hired women by the time I reached the States. Would he take me back as his main girl? Would I be over him by then? Would I even be able to find him, or would he just disappear? A crook like him would probably change his name and vanish into the crowds of New York…

"I—I'm happy for you Guillermo." I managed, holding back the tears. "T-too bad you never got to kill me some Nazis yet, huh?"

"Oh?" he said, working that eyebrow. "What makes you think I haven't?"

With a roll of his eyes, he glanced back at the door that Renault had excited through.

Yvonne's eyebrows rose. "That was you?"

He blinked back to her. "Perhaps."

I rolled my eyes heavenward, and snorted. "Of course. Those murdered curious all over the news, that was the work of the notorious Guillermo Ugarte. The terrible criminal no one could catch! Let me guess, you got the job done so spectacularly, that there is no proof you had anything to do with it."

Grinning like a schoolboy on Christmas morning, he nodded. "No proof at all! I wasn't seen by anybody, and I had it done in less than a minute!"

"Quick and deadly, like a panther," I said sarcastically.

"I'll tell you the whole story later," he assured me. "You'll love it, I know you will. Oh, but uh, I do have proof. I'll show you." He fished through his wrinkled gold suit, and pulled out a small metal pin. It was a silver swastika, framed in a red circle with gold German writing. Roughly translated, it read, "Long live the Master Race." A second, leafy ring of gold circulated the whole design. The entire thing was about the size of one of the Roulette chips Ugarte loved so much.

I wanted to believe this pin had come from a dead Nazi. I wanted to believe it had come from a Nazi my Ugarte had killed himself. But the fact was, this pin could easily have been bought from a store, swiped from an unsupervised jacket draped over a chair, or picked up off of the ground. There was nothing remarkable about it.

"Oh, one more thing." Ugarte rummaged through that same pocket, and brought out my opal ring. "It's cracked a little," he ran his thumb over the hairline fracture on the large stone, "But who could tell from a distance, huh?"

I couldn't help but smile, as I let him slip it back onto my finger.

Yvonne scoffed. "Who did you steal that from?"

"He didn't steal it," I corrected her. "He won it off Bernardo, who bought it off a street rat, who stole it from a French policeman's wife."

"How in God's name can your remember all that?!" Ugarte exclaimed.

I shrugged.

"Well," Ugarte said, "I have a lot to take care of before I leave for America. Debts to be paid, goodbyes to be said. I'll be at Rick's most of the day, but if I'm not there I might be at the Blue Parrot or the market place. And I suppose I'll want to change my suit," he glanced down at his wrinkled clothes.

We said our goodbyes, and Ugarte was gone as quickly as he'd come.

"Do you think it really was him?" Yvonne asked offhandedly.

I blew through my lips. "I think Renault would have stuck around a little longer if there was even a chance of it." I glanced again at the pin in my hands. "It's cute, really, how he tries to seem so menacing."

Yvonne shuddered slightly. "He is, sometimes."

This was true. Very, very true. I thought of all our fights, and of the cold cruelty he'd offered me when I first asked him about those visas. I thought about that squabble with the pickpocket, in the alley. I glanced again at the pin in my hand. Was it possible…?

I pocketed the pin, deciding to put the thought away until after work. Real or phony, the pin would be a good thing to have. If I wore it around a Nazi, they might not suspect me of being an "enemy." Yvonne and I finished dressing, and went our separate ways for work. I was in a sad mood, due to Ugarte's preparing to leave. I tried to remind myself that I'd had a live before Ugarte, and that I'd still have my friends to protect me. But it hurt deeply, that he didn't want to stay and wait for me. That he didn't want to wait and make sure my sister and niece and nephew made it alright. The truth, that he didn't really love me, was becoming harder and harder to burry.

Yvonne wasn't in the best of moods either, due to the news on Rick's latest affair. Renault was such an ass, I thought. A gentleman perhaps two thirds of the time, of the time, but a colossal ass in the affairs of women. Especially the glamorous, attention-absorbing ones like Yvonne.

Work in the market place went by normally until the middle of the morning, when a friend of Signor Haddad stopped by to share some news. They spoke in Arabic, and at a hundred words a minute. I continued stringing my beads, paying no mind to their conversation, until I heard Haddad's friend say the word "Nazi." His tone of voice sounded urgent, and warning. He continued in Arabic, until I heard the words "Major Strasser." I'd never heard of Major Strasser, but the way this man was speaking, I assumed he was a person you should hope never to meet.

When the friend left, I asked my employer, "Who is Major Strasser?"

"A Nazi." Signor Haddad replied gravely. "Arrived in Casablanca today, by plane. Someone of high profile. I should avoid him."

Signor Haddad's limited English made it difficult to go into detail, but I got the idea. Whoever this Major Strasser was, one would want to put as much distance between him and themselves as possible. I prayed he wouldn't come anywhere near my apartment or Rick's Café.

I finished work at noon (I now worked half a day on Saturday) and I returned home, debating whether I wanted to risk going to Rick's Café. If this Major Strasser was such a high profile person, it was a safe bet he'd want to visit the most high-profile café in the city. But, on the other hand, I was very curious as to what business Ugarte might have that day. (He did much if not most of his business at Rick's.) On my walk home, I passed some Nazi soldiers in the marketplace. I wasn't certain if they were with Strasser, or just some of the regular Nazis posted here, but I felt numb passing them either way. I decided right then to stay inside that night.

Well, that idea lasted about half an hour. Yvonne wasn't home—no doubt she was off looking for Rick—so I was all alone. I closed the windows, for fear of being seen by a Nazi; then I opened them again for fear of looking suspicious. I jumped at every sound. I told myself how irrational I was being; there were always Nazis around, what difference should one new major make. But I longed more than ever for the safe company of Guillermo and my friends. I debated for several minutes, just pacing around the bedroom.

All these decades later, it still chills me to wonder, whether it would have been better for me had I decided to stay in, or if I'm extremely lucky that I did not.

When my anxiety became overwhelming, I found myself changing into the long, Spanish-styled dress Ugarte had bought me—the cream yellow one, with the red and green patterns. With my black hair and complexion, I would look natural in it, and hopefully fool any Nazi into thinking I was a Spaniard. After putting my hair up, I began searching for accessories. I pinned a cheap, fake white flower onto the side of my head. I found the large bracelet I'd bought from Annina, and slipped it onto the same arm I wore Ugarte's ring on. I put on two small gold hoop earrings—the most Spanish looking ones I owned. Then I grabbed my coat, knowing I'd want it after sunset; nights were often cold in Casablanca.

I took the most crowded streets I could, trying to look casual and failing. I got some looks from people who could tell I was in a hurry.

Before going straight to the Roulette room, I thought I'd say hello to Sascha. I noticed the barkeep leaning over the counter, speaking urgently to a plumb German couple. I allowed myself a smile, eager to get in on the gossip, then stopped dead when I heard what Sascha had to tell them.

"Major Strasser is coming to this café tonight!"

The couple seemed petrified by this news, and began speaking urgently to each other in German. Sascha's eyes met with mine, and he gave a short nod.

"You best get yourself to the Roulette room, and stay with your friends," he warned me. "Or else go on home. The Major has not arrived yet."

I swallowed, and glance back at the gaming room. This would Ugarte's last night at the Roulette wheel, and I wanted to play one more game with my lover. I and I'd spent all day clinging to the security of being surrounded by my friends. I didn't want to be alone. I wanted to talk about my fears to my friends, and hear their plans for avoiding Major Strasser.

"Thank you Sascha," I said.

Simultaneously, the German couple headed towards the exit door, while I headed quickly to the Roulette room.

When I crossed into the game room, the plump, Arab doorman looked at me as I went by, looked quickly at Rick. I stopped, wondering if I'd done something wrong. Rick gave me a passing glance, and then nodded to his doorman. As I stared in confusion, a curly-haired waiter in a tux stopped by me and said quietly, "I don't know if you're aware ma'am. But for future reference, this is technically a private room. You must be approved by Rick before entering."

"Oh! Yes, actually, I, I did know that…"

I was so used to coming here with Ugarte or my friends that we'd usually been admitted without anyone even questioning us. I tried to remember how I'd reached the Roulette wheel those first few times, when I'd been alone, and honestly couldn't remember. I must've snuck past the door men and Rick accidently, just like when I'd accidently seduced those four exit visas from Ugarte all those months ago. My accidental stealth could make me a grand spy, I thought.

"Sorry, Monsieur," I mumbled.

"Not at all Madame! I'll take your coat for you if you'd like."

"Oh! Thank you…"

And I'd forgot to check my coat in upon entering the building. I was a right klutz today.

A few of the regulars were at the table, but several hadn't arrived this early in the afternoon yet, including Ugarte. Though there weren't many of the "regulars" there yet, the table was plenty full. In fact, I couldn't find any available chairs.

"Sofie!" Rita called from the table. "What are you standing around for? Come join us!"

"It seems I'll have to stand," I said, searching for a chair.

"Here," a Moslem man in long loose robes and a dark fez sat up from the edge of the table. "My break is about finished anyhow. You can have this seat Madam."

I moved to take the seat, and upon seeing his face, recognized him as one of Rick's waiters. "Thank you Monsieur…I'm sorry, I'm no good with names."

"Omar," the waiter said. "Can I get you anything to drink Madame?"

I requested a light drink, and he went to fetch it.

"Sofia," Rita said playfully, "You look even more Spanish than me and Marco today!"

"And you look like a snowman," I said, hoping the remark didn't sound too mean.

The fact was, Rita's outfit really was a bit…extreme. She wore a white frilly dress, with an enormous ruffled collar. Her head was topped with a baggy, embroidered hat, her dark curls jetting out from the sides of her head like the ears of a poodle.

"Thank you," Rita said enthusiastically. "I miss snow. I've gone too many Christmases here in Casablanca without it."

Behind her, Rita's husband Marco remarked, "You're supposed to dress up a bit for a club, no?"

"Sure," George Holden said, a ways down the table. "But not the way you 'dress up' for Halloween!"

"Hey," Rita said, stacking her chips. "With the stinking Nazis about, most everyone has to dress up in disguise and costume now and then."

"Amen to that," George said.

I wondered, once more, if "George Holden" was really the blonde American man's name.

I decided to change the subject. "We seem to be absent a few regulars," I commented. "Any sign of Ugarte, Saddako, or the Velazquezes?" Half-humorously I added, "They weren't taken away were they?"

Minga, that old Jewish woman with the sad eyes, looked up at me. Her expression was almost scolding. She was sitting right between me and Rita, and I probably should have taken her sensitive nature into account before cracking such a tasteless joke.

"Carmen and Pepe are coming a little later," Rita said. "Ugarte's around, doing his business. And Saddako's with her new boyfriend."

"Don't know what for," George snorted, shuffling his cards. "She seemed smart."

The Moslem businessman next to George gave him a look. "Come now, George. Poor Saddako must be tickled pink to find another Oriental around here, whatever his political allegiances."

"I don't cozy up to the Nazis just on account of we're both White," George pointed out, continuing to work his cards bitterly.

"I often wonder," Rita mused, "How is it all of the races came into being? What made God just decide to set us in these different groups?"

I shrugged, lighting myself a cigarette. "What made him decide to make some cats stripped and others spotted?"

"It's evolution," George explained. "People look how they do to fit their environment. Don't'cha ever notice the peoples from the hotter climates tend to be tanner?"

A British businessman across the table snorted. "You don't believe that Darwinian fairy tale."

Oh, hell. Here we go. We normally avoided politics at the Roulette table, for obvious reasons. But every now and again, it would come up, and lead to an argument that often escalated until Rick arrived to put a stop to it.

While the businessman ranted about how evolution was a "hoax," Holden said casually, "Ladies and gentleman, we now present the reenactment of the Monkey Trial, hosted at Rick's Roulette Table! Tonight, the State of Tennessee will be played by—what'd you say your name was?" he asked the businessman.

"I didn't!" the Businessman huffed. "And you can take your sarcasm and your evolutionist propaganda, and—"

Rita elbowed me. "Sofie, your boyfriend!"

I glanced towards the door of the gaming room, and saw Ugarte squeezing between Rick and some German businessman, who were in the middle of their own heated argument. At first, Ugarte seemed to be headed towards our table, but he stopped in the middle of the room to watch how Rick's fight played out. I noticed that Ugarte was wearing that same cream-white suit he'd worn the night I saved him from Signor Ferrari. The night he and I first…

"Who's that he's arguing with?" I whispered to Rita.

"No clue," the Spanish woman shrugged. "Some Nazi-supporter, probably."

"The Nazis are great proponents of evolution!" the British man declared, pointing at us urgently.

Dryly, George retorted, "The Nazis also use toothbrushes. I guess we all better boycott those too."

"Do they?" I asked, arranging my chips. "From the one who accosted me the other day, I wouldn't have known he'd ever heard of a tooth brush."

"Oh!" Rita rose in her chair, peering over the crowd with excitement. "He's throwing him out!"

We turned, to watch the German man throw something in the air (money or tickets of some sort), and storm away angrily. Ugarte was standing a few feet away, watching with amusement. I caught his eye, and we grinned a silent hello to each other. He made a quick gesture with his cigarette and glass to me, letting me know that he couldn't socialize just yet; he had some business to take care of.

"Your drink, Madam."

I looked up to see Omar, the Moslem waiter, standing over me with my drink. I thanked him, and took it. He then began giving me some advice about my bets, and we were soon engrossed in conversation. I would have forgotten all about the incident at the door, if not for hearing my Ugarte's distinctive voice cut smoothly over all the conversations in the room.

"You know Rick, watching you just now with the Deutsche Bank, one would think you've been doing this all your life!"

"Oh?" the saloon keeper asked testily. "What makes you think I haven't?"

I had a good mind to turn my head around, and take a look at their expressions, but then Rita reminded me that it was my turn to place a bet. I became immersed once more in the game, and lost interest in what my lover was talking about with his friend. I wasn't the only one who was disinterested in eavesdropping on the café owner. Rick Blaine inspired awe when you first met him; but for many of the lower-profile regulars of the café, those who were his constant customers but never his close friends, he eventually faded into the background of the café, only becoming relevant when we were concerned about breaking the rules, or wanted something to gossip about.

By now Omar was practically my coach, leaning over my shoulder, and guiding me through my next move in the game. Having his advice enthused me, because it reminded me of all the times Papa would instruct me, when he was teaching me to play chess, or helping me with my schoolwork.

"Pardon me," a low, masculine voice with a French accent interrupted Omar's advise.

The voice belonged to a dark man in a French military uniform. He was moving around the table, curving around Omar and myself, coming to a halt at the opposite corner, between Minga and me.

"I apologize for interrupting. But I understand you're a roommate of my sister Yvonne?"

My brown eyes widened, and I suddenly recognized the man I'd once drawn a portrait of. "Oh my goodness, you're, you're Christophe aren't you!"

He nodded. "Yes, I am. I was told you live with her, and she comes to this café often."

"She does," I said. "But I haven't seen—"

"I saw her" Rita interrupted. "She was in the market place, looking for Rick. I suppose she'll be here soon, if she isn't already. She's horribly cross with him. I meant to ask you right away Sofie, if you knew what they were fighting about this time. But so much has been going on tonight, I suppose it slipped my mind…"

"Hang on," I shook my head. "'Tonight?' It's 'tonight' already? What time is it?"

Rita's black eyebrows turned up, as she pondered the time. The British man who didn't believe in evolution began fishing a fancy pocket watch from his jacket to check. George leaned across the table, holding out his wrist so I could see his watch.

"Read it and weep," the American joked.

"Time flies," Omar shrugged.

"Where in the market place did you see her?" Christophe pried.

"Just around the vendors, the nice side of town," Rita went on to specify street names and store shops. "But as I said, she's looking for Rick. So if you just hang around him, she's sure to turn up."

Christophe turned to glance at the saloon keeper, who was sitting at a small table, apparently playing chess with himself.

I suddenly realized that I needed a pee. And, rudely, I said so.

"I need a pee." I blurted out.

The entire table stared at me.

Omar offered jokingly, "Is that all you wish to order, Miss Sofie? One pea?"

"Yes," I pushed myself up from the table. "I'm on a diet." Before leaving, I assured Christophe, "I'll keep my eyes opened for Yvonne. Whenever I see her next I'll tell her you're looking for her."

As I exited the game room, I heard a familiar voice remark, "Snobbish, absolutely snobbish. Every one of them. The saloon keeper is king in his castle, and we're all just peasants!"

I glanced over my shoulder as I walked by. At a table right near the game room door sat a group of men and women playing cards. Saddako was among them, flanked by her new Japanese friend, and a European woman wearing an unusual head-wrapping. For a moment, I thought one of the players was that angry banker who Rick had refused to admit to his game room (hearing him boast about his large bank in Amsterdam), but quickly realized it was a different, older man.

As my pace slowed, Saddako called to me, "Sophie!"

I approached her, a bit apprehensively; that German man made me nervous. Even though I knew he wasn't the Nazi-supporter Rick had thrown out, I still had doubts. If this man were an anti-Nazi refugee, he would not have been bragging about his current status back home. If he wasn't a true supporter of the Nazis, he clearly had enough tolerance for their crimes to remain on their good side.

"Sophie," Saddako smiled, "I tried to say hello to you before. You just walked right past me!"

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I said honestly. "I didn't realize…there was much on my mind."

"Don't worry, I haven't had the grandest evening either." Her boyfriend seemed disappointed by this news, but Saddako seemed not to notice. "Sophie, you know what good friends I am with Rick Blaine. He's like a brother to me."

A gross exaggeration, as well as a side-step about the reality of her and Rick's relationship. I conveyed this with a slight raise of my eyebrows. But Saddako was committed to her ruse.

"But he won't have a drink with me and my new friends! How is that fair, I ask you?"

How is it fair to your Communist father and Chinese mother, that you're letting this Imperialist scumbag romance you?

I had to admit, it was a bit strange that Rick wouldn't make an exception for Saddako's friends, considering how close Rick and Saddako were rumored to be. But on the other hand, Rick took his business very seriously, and probably wouldn't let his personal affairs interfere with his rules. What was really leaving me confused was, why the hell was Saddako throwing in with Nazi supporters and Japanese Imperialists? From the way she acted, I got the impression that she was, well, acting. Saddako didn't really like these Germans, or the Japanese man she was with; she was up to something. My curiosity burned to know what. But fear of the Nazis and fear of my bladder exploding made me decide to let it drop, for now.

"Sorry Saddako, but I really must find a ladies' room. It was good to talk to you!"

Saddako understood, and let me go.

I hurried to the restroom, doing my best not to crash into anybody along the way. But despite my best efforts, I collided with a tall, balding policeman—or at least I thought he was a policeman, at first. I began to apologize, then gasped when I saw his uniform. It was a Nazi. A high ranking one. I attempted to back away from him, but he seized my wrist in his fist. His grip was like iron. And his eyes, god his eyes. People often complained that my Ugarte's eyes were "unnatural" or "creepy," and I always fancied myself the odd one out, who saw beauty and cuteness where others saw something ghoulish. But this man's eyes were different. They were deep-set, framed by shadow, staring hard and unblinking. It was an analyzing expression. My entire body grew cold, and I could feel my heart pounding. I could feel the blood rushing in my arm, against the grip of the Nazi's fist. And then he smiled. A large, toothy grin, that sent an extra chill down my spine. I was certain one could see the color draining from my face.

Softly, the Nazi said, "No harm done, Fraulein."

He released my wrist, his fingers moving almost mechanically, still with that awful grin on his face. His horrible eyes were still locked onto mine. Tearing my gaze away from his seemed to take so much effort, he might as well have had me on a rope that I was trying to break. I finally ripped my eyes away and turned them intently to the floor, staring at his perfectly shined boots.

Quietly I said, "I'm sorry Monsieur."

Slowly, I continued on to the restroom, my heart and blood still racing. By some miracle, I hadn't wet myself. Probably, my body had tensed just enough to unconsciously keep me from relieving myself. Once in the ladies' room, I was dismayed to find every stall taken. Just before one finally did open up, an old woman entered, and I had no choice but to insist she go before me. When I finally got my turn, I remained on the toilet for several minutes after I was done with it, afraid to go back out.

I was jerked out of my thoughts when a familiar pair of white shoes clopped into the restroom. "Sofie?" Rita called. "Your Ugarte is looking for you. Have you been in here this whole time?"

"Maybe," I rose, pulled up my undergarments, and straightened my skirt.

"You just missed the most outrageous scene with Yvonne." Rita went on. "She was stark-raving drunk, she and Rick were fighting—"

"Rita, how is any of this news?" I shook my head, and exited the stall.

"She knocked a chair over!"

"Well, I suppose that's new." I admitted.

"Sascha went home with her."

"While she was drunk?" I asked nervously.

Sascha was a good man, who cared for Yvonne. Surely he wouldn't take advantage of her, in her current state. Would he?

"Yah, that's the whole reason, someone had to see her safely home. Her brother was gone already, because they'd fought, and she chased him away. And you missed it all. You've been hiding in her for half an hour Sofie. I know you're scared of the Nazis, but if you're going to hide from them you'll want to do better than a toilet stall. Come on, none of them are in the Roulette room. We'll go back and finish our game. Or I can take you home if you want."

Once again, I remembered that this was the last night Ugarte would be at the Roulette wheel, at least if his claims of finally being done with the business were true.

"Alright," I said. "Let's go back to the Roulette Wheel."

Rita led me back through the café. If that Nazi was still in the club, I didn't see him; I kept my eyes on Rita's ruffled back, refusing to look away until we were back in the Roulette room. Ugarte was on a buzz when we reached him. He was holding a fresh drink and cigarette, sitting across from Rita's empty chair. My spot at the end of the table had been taken, by a Moroccan woman in a strange, elegant veil.

"Sofie, my love!" Ugarte rose from his seat. "Here, I was just keeping this chair warm for you. I've ordered a drink for you."

"Oh, Guillermo," before taking my seat, I came in close to Ugarte. He blinked at me, somewhat taken aback. "I—I ran into a Nazi out there," I was calm on the outside now, but inside I was still shaken. "I bumped right into him,"

Ugarte soothed me, stroking my hair. I was passed being embarrassed, though we were getting some looks from people around the Roulette table.

"Don't think about that now Sofie," Ugarte assured me. "You want to be safe, you stay by me. I'm a good luck charm tonight!"

George warned, "You'll 'charm' yourself all the way to a concentration camp if you don't put a lid on it Ugarte! Why don't you just keep your mouth shut till you're in America, and then start bragging, huh?"

I glanced at George, then flicked my eyes back to Ugarte. "Guillermo, tell me you haven't been going around telling people that same ludicrous story you told me this morning?"

Cooley, Ugarte replied, "I haven't been telling anybody anything. I didn't tell you anything, did I?"

This was met with dubious looks from Ugarte's friends.

George muttered, "Idiot marched right up to Rick of all people, and said—"

"I said I heard a rumor, that's it." Ugarte said.

"More like you're trying to start a rumor," I said, giving Ugarte a disapproving look as I took my seat.

This was how Ugarte was around his friends. While he saved his adventure stories for his nights alone with me, he tried to impress his friends and business associates in the same way, but trying to imply darkly what a threatening criminal he was. From what I gathered, few fell for it. The only reason George was probably so worried tonight was because of that Major Strasser rumored to be in the café, and all the police out looking for the murderer of those couriers.

It suddenly occurred to me that that Nazi might have been one of Strasser's men, or even Strasser himself.

I decided to purge the memory from my mind, and lose myself in the game once more. My troubles momentarily vanished. The drink Ugarte ordered for me arrived, but after two sips I decided that I wasn't thirsty. I allowed Ugarte to have the rest. With his usual suave, he poured the remainder of his drink into mine, and gently swirled the glass, stirring the drinks together.

"How is that mixture?" I asked my lover playfully.

George added, "Should we give the new recipe to Sascha?"

Ugarte took a sip, and wrinkled his nose. "It's a bit sour. But as long as it gets me drunk, what does it matter, huh?"

Laughing I begged, "Let me try that!" After I did, I wrinkled my nose. "It is sour."

Ugarte chuckled. "You like my drinks at the Blue Parrot better."

Rita cocked her head at us, wondering at our inside joke. She was one of the more innocent Roulette players, and had never been to the Blue Parrot. George stared at us a moment, then shook his head back down to his cards.

Ugarte's enthusiasm showed in his gambling. He was betting far more than usual. I assumed this was because it was his last night here, and he was overexcited.

"Guillermo, slow down a little huh?" I urged touching his hand. "You'll want money for to travel to America, no?"

"Sure I do," he argued, "But I'm feeling exceptionally lucky tonight."

I noticed Minga staring across the table, at something in the back of the room. I followed her gaze. By the doorway stood Captain Renault, with his hands clasped behind him, slowly making his rounds around the café. His eyes were on Ugarte. Which was nothing unusual, in and of itself. Ugarte and Renault had a distant respect for each other's visa businesses; they didn't interfere with each other's transactions, but each liked to keep an eye on his competition. Something was odd, though, about the way he was looking at Ugarte. It wasn't the careful, supervising look he normally used for his competition, or for possible criminal suspects. It was the look he wore when he was winning at Roulette, or successfully seducing a beautiful woman. He was watching Ugarte like he was a sizzling steak, or a trophy. That look bothered me. What was it for? I recalled that Renault was rumored to enjoy both genders, like Carmen and Pepe; but that was beside the point. Why had Renault developed this sudden interest in Ugarte overnight? Did Ugarte have something he wanted?

Of course, I relaxed. Ugarte was leaving Casablanca, and making final business transactions. He was probably planning to leave something expensive or useful to Renault. Or else paying back some money he owed him. Or who knew, maybe he'd promised him some sexual favors. Ugarte was straight, as far as I knew, but on the other hand, he was Ugarte, so it wouldn't surprise me.

Against my better judgment, I let the thought drop. Just as I had with the Nazi I'd bumped into. And the pin Ugarte had given me, and that cock-and-bull story he fed me about being the brains behind that double-homicide in the news. The truth was in the back of my mind, fighting to break out, but I assumed—or wanted to think—that it was just my anxiety acting up again, and beat it down. If Ugarte had killed those couriers, I assured myself, he would have been caught by now. Renault would have arrested him right there in the apartment. And that Nazi I ran into, Strasser or not, wasn't here to take me or Ugarte to away to a camp; he was just a big bully, like that pig who'd harassed me and Annina.

We talked, laughed, flirted and joked for what may have been hours, or a few minutes. Time seemed to vanish, as I lost myself in the game and the gossip. Ugarte and I were teamed up again, for our last bout of Roulette together. He leaned over me closely, urging me to bet more.

"Ugarte, we both need to save our money," I reminded him.

He began rapidly complaining in Italian. I probably wouldn't have caught it even if I had been fluent.

"Monsieur Ugarte?"

Ugarte shot up and spun around. I hesitated, before rising up from crouching over my cards, into an upright sitting position. Ugarte looked quickly between the two French policemen towering over him.

"Oh," he said softly, almost sadly.

The Frenchman running the game cut in, announcing the next round.

"…Yes?"

"Would you please come with us?"

I watched Ugarte's sad eyes dart up and down the guard. Still barely above a whisper, he replied, "Certainly."

The Roulette runner asked me a question, punctuating with an urgent "Madame?" He was probably attempting to distract me. I barely heard him.

Ugarte turned to sweep a short glance around the table—at his chips, the wheel, his friends, me. Then, apparently having thought of an idea, he spun back and asked, "But may I first please kiss my chips?"

They agreed, and he eagerly set down his drink with a wide, childlike smile. My eyes flicked up and down, from his fake, panicked grin, to the drink he was carefully setting onto the table. He kept his cigarette. Ugarte often relied on his cigarettes when he was under stress. I watched him leave with the two officers, my eyes glued to him, turning around in my chair. I watched him casually walk towards the door of the gaming room, flanked by the two guards, sticking his cigarette back in his mouth.

I glanced back at my friends. Rita was placing her chips, continuing the game, but her dark eyes kept flicking up every few seconds, watching the Ugarte. Next to her, Minga was staring ahead sadly, as if Ugarte was already dead. I felt sick inside, but turned calmly back towards the door, as if I were only mildly interested in what was going on.

They followed him to the booth on the other side of the other room, where you "kissed his chips." While he waited for the man in the booth to hand him his chips, Ugarte leaned on the counter and took a drag from his cigarette, watching the door. Two more French policemen I hadn't noticed strode through the door, and moved out of sight; I got the impression that they were taking guarding positions on the outside. Ugarte's dark eyes moved between the two sides of the door, then landed on me. As he took a slow drag from his cigarette, I tried desperately to find some meaning in his expression. Was he bidding me goodbye, begging me to help him, or assuring me that everything would be fine? I replay that look on his face, over and over, all these years later, and I still can't decipher its meaning.

His chips arrived just as he finished exhaling. He tore his gaze away from me, and turned around to face the man at the booth. He thanked the worker, sticking his cigarette back in his mouth, and turned back towards the game room. The policemen followed him, probably wondering where he thought he was going. Or maybe just playing along. Ugarte's pace quickened as he neared the door, and they sped up to match him.

As soon as he was close enough, he leaned to the side and seized the door handle, and dove into the game room, pulling the door shut behind him. For a brief moment, he and the men outside struggled with the door, while the saxophone from the jazz band echoed from the other side. Ugarte's mask of confidence was gone, as he stared ahead with a pained terror, crushing his cigarette in his teeth. He was struggling, not only with the door, but something in his pocket. For a second, a defeated agony came over his face, and that look cut me worse than anything that night so far. But a moment later he'd wrenched his gun from his pocket. He spun around, and grabbed the leg of his pants with his other hand, steadying the gun over his arm. As soon as they'd got the door opened, he fired, four times.

Rita screamed, dropping her cards. People were gasping and screaming all through the café. Ugarte tore away from the doorway, and ran through the game room, right past all of us. He circled to another door, one that the waiters used to bring drinks to the gamblers in the game room. I was pushing myself up before I realized it, running after him. As soon as I reached the door, I was blocked by Omar, who raised his hands, as if about to gently tell me to remain in the gaming room. I angrily shoved him out of my way, and tore out into the main cafe. I wove through the crowd, trying to find Ugarte again. I noticed George, Rita, and a few other gamblers hurrying out the main door of the gaming room, shocked and frightened but nonetheless eager to see the train wreck play out.

I finally found him, running past the bar counter. I decided to tear across the café to him, took off, and promptly tripped over my long dress. Someone grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet; another French policeman. I tried to wring my arm free but he held on tightly, and grabbed my other arm, pinning me in place.

I watched Ugarte run to Rick, calling Rick's name, as if he were some kind of older brother who might protect him. He almost slammed right into the tall American. Rick stopped the smaller man just a few inches from him, with a firm hand under his bowtie.

"Rick!" Ugarte rasped, still clutching his useless gun in one hand. "Rick help me!"

"Don't be a fool," Rick said, almost scoldingly. "You can't get away."

"But Rick hide me! Do something, you must help me, Rick!"

The last word came out as a yelp, as the policemen piled onto him. Ugarte was a tiny man, but his determination and adrenaline made it like trying to contain a rabid rodent. Squirming madly, they hauled him around the pillar, past a confused, frightened Spanish woman in a little flowered cap. As she backed away from the mob, with her hands out in front of her, I realized it was Carmen. Pepe wasn't far away, and quickly came up to console his wife.

Ugarte continued to holler Rick's name, as they carried him out of the café.

George approached Rick from behind, with one hand in his pocket. Holding a gun perhaps? George Holden was on the Nazis' bad side, and he was a cautious man. But if he had a gun, surely he would have helped Ugarte? Perhaps he was going to help him, and was simply forming some kind of plan. I should be forming a plan. Why wasn't I forming a plan? Why wasn't I trying to help Ugarte?

Perhaps because the policeman was still holding me. He'd pulled me against the wall, behind the thick of the crowed. I doubt anyone would even have seen me being restrained even if they were looking for me.

"When they come to get me Rick, I hope you'll be more of a help," George said dryly.

In a low voice, Rick replied, "I stick my neck out for nobody."

Rick moved away from George, passing Carmen, who was now backed against that pillar, with Pepe hovering over her.

"I'm sorry there was a disturbance folks," Rick said to the crowd, "but it's all over now, everything's alright." He straightened a glass on a table that had fallen over, as if to give evidence that he was restoring order in his café. "Just siddown and have a good time, enjoy yourselves. Alright Sam…"

Sam was sitting with one gold-suited arm draped over his piano, having been watching the entire scene like some kind of mind-numbing news cast. At Rick's order, Sam turned around and struck up a new tune.

Carmen and Pepe were talking urgently to each other, but over the music I couldn't hear what they were saying. Holden was ordering a drink from Sascha. Rita, I couldn't find.

I looked back at the door where Ugarte had been dragged out.

It was a scene I'd nightmared about plenty of times. But to see it play out right now, in the middle of an ordinary night, rather than a muddled, confused dream—to see it happen right here, in the real Rick's Café, rather than some warped dream version of it—was something beyond describing. The floor beneath me was rocking like a ship. It began to spin.

"Madame," the officer holding me said flatly, "Are you alright?"

I blinked slowly, feeling my head heating up. There was a sensation comparable to seeing sunspots. The café before me grew momentarily dark, almost like the negative of a photograph. And it was spinning like a roller coaster ride.

AN: I watched the two clips from the movie intently, over and over, paying careful attention to the background characters portrayed in this chapter. I did my best to note who was doing what in each scene, and offer some rhyme and reason as to why.