As Time Goes By

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: Here's looking at Caskett, kid. Rating: K Time: In a rather alternate universe.

Renault went back to Major Perlmutter and explained that Rick had a plan.

"Why would the American want to help us?" Perlmutter demanded.

"He has a history with Mrs. Lazlo."

"A history? Ancient, modern or sexual?"

"Sexual, at least. If Dr. Lazlo disappears, he has a clear shot at Mrs. Lazlo."

"The Widow Lazlo, you mean." Perlmutter thought for a minute. Renault thought she smelled wood burning. "If his plan makes sense, we have a deal."

Renault went back to Rick.

"He agrees, assuming your plan makes sense."

"Suppose someone could find those missing Letters of Transit? And suppose that someone met Lazlo at the airport when the flight to Lisbon leaves in tomorrow night? Once Lazlo has the letters, he's in possession of stolen property. That's a crime in France."

Renault smiled.

"You are a devious one, aren't you, Ricky?"

"Only when I have to be."

Rick went back to his office and found he'd been followed by Dr. Lazlo.

"I understand that you have the Letters of Transit. Don't ask how I know. I'll pay you one hundred thousand francs for them."

Rick knew he couldn't let Lazlo have the Letters of Transit until it was time for the plane for Lisbon to leave. Too many things could go wrong if he gave them to him now.

"Sorry, you could offer a million francs and you wouldn't get them."

"I thought you were a businessman, Mr. Castle. Why won't you sell them to me?"

"Ask your wife."

"My wife?"

They were interrupted by the sound of Major Perlmutter and his Nazi friends singing the Horst Wessel song, the anthem of the Nazi party.

Dr, Lazlo straightened at once and left the office. He went straight to Curly and his band.

"Play La Marseilles." He said.

"La Marseilles?" Curly said, looking at his band mates. "We don't know that one."

"You don't know La Marseilles? How can that be?"

"It's got a good beat, but it's too hard to dance to. I give it a five."

"How about some other French patriotic song? Something that will fire up the hearts of Frenchman and make them long to chase the hated Boche from their land."

"The French have songs like that?" Curly said. "Who knew."

"Something English then?" Lazlo said desperately. "Hearts of Oak? There'll Always Be an England? The White Cliffs of Dover?"

"Don't know any of them."

By now Perlmutter was leading his Nazis in the Watch on the Rhine.

Lazlo began going through every country overrun by the Nazis.

"Something from Czechoslovakia? Poland? Denmark? Norway? Holland? Belgium? Yugoslavia? Greece? Perhaps Russia?"

But at each suggestion, Curly shook his furry head.

"Something from America, then? You must know something suitable from America?"

Curly huddled with his band.

"We have the perfect song." He proudly announced.

The band got their sheet music out, although they knew the song by heart. Then they began playing and singing.

"Who's the leader of the club that's made for you and me?

"M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E."

At once the French and others rose to their feet.

"MICKEY MOUSE!" They roared. Kepis, berets and other hats were thrown in the air and long hidden mouse ears were proudly brought out and worn. They sang loudly enough to drown out Major Perlmutter and his Nazis.

When the last verse was sung, they all cheered.

"Vive le Mickey Mouse!" Someone yelled.

Dr. Lazlo was surrounded by the crowd and congratulated. Drinks were bought for him, and he was cheered.

Major Perlmutter was furious.

"See what a danger that man is? You must close this place at once. At once, I say."

"But I have no reason to." Captain Renault said.

"Find one." Perlmutter snarled.

Captain Renault gathered her sturdy police around her and blew her whistle.

"This place is closed." She yelled. "Everyone out. Now."

Rick came over to her at once.

"Why are you closing me down? On what grounds?"

"I'm shocked. Shocked. To find that ice cream is being served here."

Young Vito Vorleone approached the captain.

"Should I put your Rick's Special Super Colossal Stupendous Sundae in the refrigerator, Captain Renault?"

"Yes, of course." Renault said quickly.

The club was soon closed, and Rick sat with Curly, downing his sorrows in Scotch.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she has to walk into mine."

He downed more Scotch.

"Play it for me, Curly."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Richard."

"You played it for her. Play it for me. Play Misty for me."

"Sorry, Mr. Richard. Wrong film."

Curly began a soft version of In the Mood, but decided that Mr. Richard's mood was bad enough already.

"It's December 1941 here in Casablanca. What time is it in America?"

"Well, there are four time zones in America, so depending on where you are, it…." Curly stopped. This was another one of those rhetorical questions.

"They're probably all asleep. All across America." Rick went on.

Curly thought about mentioning that some people worked nights, just like he did. He decided that Mr. Richard didn't mean that. That was probably one of those things that were symbolic of something or another. Vorlags had trouble with those.

"Mr. Richard? Mickey's big hand is on the twelve and his little hand is on the nine, so I'd better be going home. My brother Moe is finishing up inventorying the liquor and my other brother, Larry, is busy cooking...I mean balancing your books."

Rick gestured for Curly to leave, which he did. However, he felt bad about leaving Mr. Richard alone like this.

Rick wasn't alone for long. He heard a sound and turned. There she was.

"Beckett, what do you want?"

"You." She said.

For an instant, his heart soared like an eagle, (Another film reference there, folks,). Then he could see by the look on her face that was not what she meant.

She sat down with him.

"I know what I want, and I know what I have to do. You and I, and a lot of people here in Casablanca, know what the Nazis and their fellow fascists all across occupied Europe are like. We know what'll happen to the world if they win. The people in America either don't understand this, they don't care, or they think that two oceans will protect them from the Nazis. And that's not true."

"I have to get Josh to America. I understand America and Josh doesn't. We can talk to people who know what the triumph of Hitler will be like and urge them to do more. We can try to get people who don't care or feel it isn't relevant to them to understand what the danger really is."

"I know that you have the Letters of Transit. I need you to give them to me."

"Oh? And where did you hear that I had these Letters of Transit?"

She shrugged.

"Word on the street."

Rick thought for a second.

"I know a guy. He can help. You and Josh meet me at the airline terminal tomorrow night. The plane will be going to Thailand, but it'll stop in Montreal. Don't worry, Captain Clarence Oveur is a great pilot."

Kate nodded.

"We'll need first class tickets, and the inflight movie can't have any violence. He drinks only champagne, preferable something from the year 1921. Oh, and he absolutely has to sleep with his blankie. He'll cry all the way if they won't let him sleep with it. Got that?"

Rick nodded.

He got up the next morning and retrieved the Letters of Transit from Curly's electric flugelhorn.

"Curly, do you know what the spit valve is for?" he asked, grumpily.

"Sorry, Mr. Richard."

Rick dried the letters off and found they were perfectly legible. He put them in his pocket and waited until evening. Then he put on his best trench coat and headed for Casablanca International.

Dr. Josh Lazlo and Kate were already there. When he shook hands with Kate, he slipped her the Letters of Transit.

Best handshake ever. They both thought.

Captain Renault showed up, right on time.

"You have your permissions to leave Casablanca?" She asked.

"Right here."

Kate handed over the Letters of Transit.

"These seem to be in order. Enjoy your flight. Oh, and going through TSA, Mrs. Lazlo will have to strip completely."

Kate glared at Captain Renault.

"Or not." The captain finally said.

"Not so fast." Said Major Perlmutter of the Third Reich. "Those are stolen Letters of Transit. Lazlo, you're under arrest." The major was covering Lazlo with his Luger and not paying any attention to Rick.

This will be like shooting fish in a barrel. Rick thought as he reached into his trench coat pocket for his .45 automatic. Alas, he wasn't wearing his .45 automatic trench coat. He reached into the other pocket hoping he was wearing his .38 Special trench coat. No luck. He reached inside his trench coat, hoping he had the .25 Beretta he'd taken from that snotty English kid. Shaking martinis indeed. But, no joy. He reached into the other inside pocket and found he was carrying a Daisy "Red Ryder" BB gun.

This is going to be a problem. He thought.

Fortunately, Major Perlmutter was behaving like a typical super villain and bragging about how smart he was and how he was going to enjoy watching Dr. Lazlo be executed.

Luckily, fate intervened. A large, unkempt, furry fate.

"Ah'm here, Cap'n." Said McAuslan Vorlag. "Why did I hev to run after your car ennways?"

Perhaps it was the shock of smelling McAuslan Vorlag up close, or perhaps Major Perlmutter had a weak constitution, but he gasped and grabbed his throat, then fell dead.

Then Les Boyz, le Buggsy, le Muggsy and le Puggsy drove up in their 1936 Rolls-Kinardly. (Rolls down one hill, kinardly get up the next.)

They dismounted and snapped to attention in front of Captain Renault.

"Major Perlmutter has been killed." She waited and added. "Round up the usual suspects."

Kate led Rick away from the others.

"Rick…" She began but was cut off.

Rick stopped her.

"I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. You need to get on that plane with Josh. You belong with him."

"Rick, that's the dumbest thing you've ever said. Turn around."

He turned around. Captain Renault and Dr. Josh Lazlo were getting on the plane together. With one hand on Captain Lanie Renault's butt, he waved the Letters of Transit just as the plane's door closed. They watched as the plane taxied away and then took off for Portugal.

"I think we should get out of Casablanca." Kate said. "There's a Free French garrison at Brazzaville. I picked Josh's pocket as he was groping Captain Renault. We have ten thousand francs which should take us to Brazzaville, first class."

"Here's looking at you, Kid." Rick said as the two walked off into the fog. Then they stopped.

"Kate, what's that sound?"

"I think it's someone playing La Marseilles on the electric flugelhorn. And I think he has the amplifier up to three."

Rick sighed.

"We can't leave everyone behind, can we? With Major Perlmutter dead, and Captain Renault running off with Dr. Josh Lazlo, they'd all be arrested and sent to concentration camps."

"We have enough money for third class railroad tickets for everyone. If McAuslan Vorlag rides on the roof of the caboose."

"Where else would he ride?"

The two turned back towards Casablanca.

"Kate, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"You have no idea."

The End

Author's Note. Next up is Driving Miss Beckett. This is set in the same fictional universe as my story The Pilot and its sequels but is set centuries earlier. Somehow, a man named Rick Castle and a woman named Kate Beckett are there. Perhaps ancestors of the latter two?