As Time Goes By

Now: The thin figure levelled the Luger he'd had hidden in his
overcoat and aimed it at the old man seated opposite. "You must
remember this..."

* * *

Then - 1997: "I remember the first time you came into this gin joint,
Your Royal Highness. Your husband didn't seem to like it."

The young woman gazed at Rick with those famous blue eyes and slightly
adjusted the auburn wig. "Well, he'd have much rather been off playing
polo, although he had to admit that your place was better than
Stringfellows."

"Is Mister El-Fayed going to be joining you this evening ?"

The woman smiled. "Now, Rick, you know I'm not one to kiss and tell. Do
you know we're going to Paris next week ?"

* * *

Now: "Tell me, Mister Blaine, do you know who I am ?"

"No. Should I ?"

"You killed my grandfather&;#8230;"

"I've never killed anyone who didn't deserve it."

"My grandfather was only doing his job !"

* * *

Then - 1946: "Got a job here, Rick. Trailing a blackmailer. Pays the
sort of money that would make a bishop become a devil
worshipper."

Rick refilled Marlowe's glass and smiled his sharkish smile. He offered
the bottle to the third man at the table. Sam Spade finished rolling
his cigarette and topped his own glass up. "You know, when I saw the
two of you, I thought you were on a case together."

"Nah," Spade sneered. "I'm just here on vacation. Thought I'd drop by
and see how you were doing here in England."

Marlowe chuckled. "I wouldn't've worked with this lowlife anyway." The
two gumshoes glared at eachother momentarily. It was like looking into
a mirror. Almost.

* * *

Now: "Almost sixty years have gone by since you ran. Yet you don't
appear to have aged sixty years." The wiry figure waved the muzzle of
the Luger at Rick's grey temples, at his relatively-smooth skin. "You
must be in your nineties now, Mister Blaine. What's your secret
?"

* * *

Then - 1936: "The secret of the Takumi, Blaine. The sacred waters of
life. This is what Dobbs had been looking for." The adventurer hooked
the bullwhip back onto his belt and removed his fedora, gazing into the
sparkling pool that glowed with eerie brilliance, lighting up the
entire cavern. "Dare we drink from it ?"

"Isn't it supposed to grant eternal youth to any who merit it, Jones ?"
Rick knelt down next to the archaeologist.

"Yeah, and death to those with an impure heart. If you believe the
legend&;#8230;"

"Yeah. If you believe the legend&;#8230;"

"So, Blaine, what do you want to do ? Drink ?"

* * *

Now: "Drink, Mister Blaine. It may well be your last !"

"Typical Nazi wit. That is a German accent, isn't it ? I've dealt a lot
with you guys in the past, but not since&;#8230;"

"Since you fled Casablanca with the traitor, Renault ? Whatever
happened to the poor, corrupt captain anyway ?"

* * *

Then - 1975: "I'm only a poor, corrupt captain." Louis Renault smiled
at the distinguished, bearded gentleman as they strolled along the
Marseille waterfront. "If you wish me to help you with the American
detective, Doyle, you had better make it sixty-thousand, Monsieur
Charnier."

The other stroked his chin with gloved fingers, then waved to the
widely-built, shaven-headed figure who followed them at a discreet
distance. The minder strutted back to the Mercedes and returned shortly
bearing an attach? case. Charnier handed it over to the diminutive
police captain.

"You won't object if I count it, do you ? It's not that I don't trust
you, but as a man of very few scruples myself&;#8230;"

Renault turned his back on them and opened the case.

And a silenced .45 calibre bullet opened up his head&;#8230;

* * *

Now: "How long are these head games going to go on for ? Shoot me if
that's what you want ! You'll be doing me a favour !"

"It's strange, Mister Blaine, how you put your good life in Casablanca
in danger for a woman who left with another man; a woman you
loved&;#8230;"

Rick laughed mirthlessly, took another slug of Bourbon. "I stick my
neck out for no-one !"

* * *

Then - 1954: "I'm sticking my neck out for you boys. Sam says you're
good, so don't let either of us down."

"We'll try not to&;#8230;" The Scouser, a tall, rangy guy with a
quiff, grinned mischievously back at him. "If we don't make it here, we
could always join Stu's girlfriend in Hamburg, try a few gigs over
there."

"Ever thought of a name change though ? I mean, 'The Quarrymen' ! What
kind of a cockamamie name is that ? What about&;#8230;"

A cockroach ran across the tiled floor and disappeared beneath the
opposite skirting. "Damn bugs ! I've told Carl about getting 'em fixed
!"

At that moment, a youth stuck his head round the door.
"Mister&;#8230;" he checked the clipboard in his hand, "Lemon, is it
? You're on !"

Rick slapped the musician on the back and grinned. "Go knock 'em dead,
guys&;#8230;"

* * *

Now: "I don't mean to knock the dead, Mister Blaine, but you've no old
friends left now. Only old enemies. And when I've finished with you,
I'll turn this celebrated club of yours to ashes&;#8230;"

* * *

Then - 1987: "&;#8230;to ashes, dust to dust&;#8230;" Rick stood
alone at the graveside, black overcoat pulled tightly around him in the
icy South London breeze.

Another funeral. This one Sascha's. That crazy Russian barman had left
Ferrari and Casablanca after the war and had followed him to London's
West End.

As had Sam. As had Carl. As had Abdul.
Everyone goes to Rick's.

And now everyone had left him.

Even Ilsa.

Ilsa had died in a car crash some twelve years ago. He'd read about it
in the Herald And Tribune but he didn't dare go back. Not to the
States. Not since&;#8230;

He put the thought out of his head. Again. He preferred to remember her
as she had been.

As she had been on that foggy airfield back in December of '41.

As she had been in Paris just before the Nazis had goosestepped their
way in.

Rick smiled inwardly. Paris. They'd always have Paris.

* * *

Now: "They almost got you in Paris, Mister Blaine. My grandfather would
have had you shot in Casablanca."

"Strasser ?"

"Very astute, mein herr. My grandfather was Major Heinrich Strasser.
You remember murdering him ?"

"Like I said, I never killed anyone who didn't deserve it." Conrad
Strasser stood up. "The fundamental things apply, Mister Blaine. An eye
for an eye."

* * *

Then - 1942: "You've an eye for a bargain, Ricky." Renault stared at
the sooty frontage, shouting to make himself heard over the clamour of
the London traffic.

"Been doing it for years, Louis."

"Will there be a lot of work ?"

"Bit of building, bit of paint, lot of atmosphere. We'll manage
it."

"What'll you call it ?"

"How about Rick's Bar Americain ?"

"And what about staff ?"

Rick smiled, tipped his fedora. "Louis, round up the usual
suspects&;#8230;"

* * *

Now: "I suspected you were a coward, hiding out here in London for
almost fifty years&;#8230;"

"Who's hiding, Strasser ? This place is more famous than Groucho's.
We've had film stars, millionaires and royalty dining here."

"Well, it's closing time for you now, Mister Blaine." Strasser motioned
with the gun. "On your feet."

"I'm tired. Shoot me here and now. Get it over with."

"Very well&;#8230;"

Rick gazed into the golden liquid sloshing about in his glass. There
was a loud "Phut !" and he flinched.

He didn't feel any pain.

Strasser's body fell to the floor with a thud, the front of his skull a
crimson mess.

Rick Blaine looked up.

The old man leaned heavily on his cane and smiled as he lowered the
smoky Walther P38. Rick stared at him. "Who&;#8230;"

From in the main bar, the mellow music of Lisa Stansfield faded out and
Rick listened to the tune that started up in its place.

"You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a
sigh&;#8230;"

The old man turned creakily to leave. Rick was on his feet, his hand on
the hunched shoulder. "Who&;#8230;"

Fiery eyes, determined eyes turned to his; eyes that had been full of
that same fire and determination back in 1941.

"I came here to repay a huge debt, Rick. We're even
now&;#8230;"

Rick removed his grip and, overcoat pulled tight about his frail body,
Victor Laszlo shuffled off into the alleyway behind the building.

Rick Blaine wandered into the main bar that was heaving with socialites
and celebrities, and he listened to the song, to their song.

"&;#8230;the fundamental things apply as time goes
by&;#8230;"

He turned to his head barman, Flanagan, a young, dark-haired fellow
with flashing, blue eyes and sparkling grin who was flipping bottles
through the air. "Brian ?"

"Yes, boss ?"

Rick smiled. "Play it again&;#8230;"