"How did you get Nicky's message, Godfrey?"

"Ah, you know. The blower. The horn."

"The telephone?"

"Righty ho."

"I thought Nick couldn't leave the bar area."

"Bars always have phones. Don't they?" Asked with innocent duplicity.

I gave up on nailing down CinSim communication modes. "What's so urgent?"

"He had a message from another CinSim, a displaced person, in fact. That poor fellow is somewhat mentally garbled from deserting his post. This… ah, errant CinSim had been contacted by yet another seriously-rogue CinSim. Now the second chap is at the Inferno Bar and desperately needs to see 'a raven-haired beauty with blazing blue eyes'."

"Nice snow job, Godfrey." CinSims from earlier eras were gallant flatterers of women, I'd discovered. I was beginning to like it, but not believe it. "And, of course, Nick Charles immediately thought of me."

"He is a rather fine judge of both female pulchritude and gin."

"Pulchritude, Godfrey?"

"An old-fashioned term, I admit. I hesitate to call a lady of my acquaintance a 'hot number' to her face, although my cousin Nick Charles never would. But then, that's the Gilbey's talking."

"So Nicky suggests I toddle out in the middle of the night to go see this fuzz-brained CinSim at the Inferno Bar."

"There is no 'middle of the night' in Las Vegas, miss. It's the town that never sleeps."

"Okay. I'm at loose ends, anyway. What's this wandering CinSims's name?"

"Oddly enough, Rick. With a 'k'."

That perked me up. "You sure it isn't the real Ric without a 'k'?"

"We CinSims are as real as rain, Miss Street." I'd never heard Godfrey sound so stiff. "At any rate, should you choose to see this fellow, cousin Nicky advises-and I quote-that you 'crack out your swankiest evening gown and dancing slippers'. Apparently the muddled CinSim is quite a ladies' man and, as Nick, not Rick, said, 'A gorgeous dame might unzip his lips and his amnesia'."

"Despite the comic relief with the flattery, you think this is serious, don't you, Godfrey?"

"I have never known my detective cousin to be so urgent. He actually sounded sober."

"Good grief! I'd better zip over to the Inferno to rendezvous with this mysterious amnesiac. That happen often to CinSims?"

"Certainly not. Our minds are even sharper than our components' faculties, thanks to, er, multiple influences." His brow wrinkled. "Being jerked untimely from our environments may, however, cause some damage. What will you do?"

"Dress to the nines and drive to the Inferno to dazzle this Rick into sanity and spilling whatever beans his black-and-white-head contains."

Manny the demon actually admired my sleek flanks in midnight-blue velvet instead of Dolly's slick black Detroit metal ones when I arrived at the Inferno and left her for valet parking.

These thirties' silk velvet gowns were second skins. Talk about being panty-line prone! You didn't dare put underwear beneath them, whether you were Jean Harlow or Delilah Street. This one wrapped across the bodice and featured billowing and tucked sleeves and the usual bias-cut skirt that clung like static to the wearer's butt and thighs. In other words, it was a classic man-trap I'd usually never take out of my collection closet.

The "demned elusive" silver familiar had converted itself into a two-inch wide rhinestone belt that shone like a galaxy against the deep, dark universe of blue velvet.

I carried a silver mesh Whiting and Dave clutch from the period and did indeed wear "slippers," a blue-sequined version of the ruby red pumps Dorothy had to hang onto in Oz.

If this outfit didn't shock the CinSim known as Rick into babbling more than his full name, rank and serial number, I would lose my faith in vintage elegance.

The Seven Deadly Sins had already performed and retired from the stage, leaving the regular tourists holding the dance floor that surrounded the Inferno Bar.

I flashed on myself in the mirror behind the Tower of Babel of liquor bottles at the back of the bar. I'd accessorized my outfit with a rhinestone tiara, a popular look in the period, so I looked like the Queen of Romania.

And so Nick Charles said when I approached him.

I cut to the chase. "Where's this Ric imposter?"

Nicky sipped from his ever-present martini glass. "Better have an Albino Vampire before you approach the fellow. He's been drinking the house bourbon."

Hard bourbon just wasn't a Vegas drink. We like our vices more elaborate here.

I looked at the martini glass with its opaque white brew turning crimson at the very bottom. I decided I needed to improvise something extra, something more stimulating for a drunk and dislocated CinSim.

I told the bartender as I eyed the usual wall of liquor bottles against the back mirror, "Something new, Lou. Pour two jiggers of the Inferno Pepper Pot vodka, a jigger of DeKuyper 'Hot Damn!' Hot Cinnamon Schnapps, and two jiggers of Alizé Red Passion passionfruit, cognac and cranberry blend. It needs a jalapeño pepper on the rim if you use a martini glass, but leave both them out for now. Use a tall, footed glass and bring it to me down the bar in three minutes."

I took my Albino Vampire in hand and sauntered to the bar's darkest end.

Holy star power! I instantly recognized the long-faced guy in the rumpled white tropical Bogart suit. It was Bogart in his second-most-iconic film role, Rick Blaine of Casablanca fame.

Bogey had always been more rough-cut than handsome, but he looked confused and morose now. As I hitched myself up on the barstool beside him, he flashed a sullen glance from under untidy brows, eyeing the Albino Vampire.

"You drinking milk, sweetheart?"

"With a kick. Try some?"

"Nah. I don't drink booze I can't see through. Those are dames' drinks."

"You noticed." The point was, he hadn't, but now he gave me the once-over and obviously liked my vintage look.

The bartender brought over a tall, iced glass the color of a blood orange.

"Try this instead of that straight rotgut," I urged.

"I can't quite see through it."

"You can't quite see through my gown but you still like it."

He eyed the bloody cocktail. "What's this called?"

What name would appeal to a tough guy like Bogey? "A… Brimstone Kiss."

"Sounds like something you'd sip on all night long and I'd knock back in couple slugs."

There were two ways to take that line so I sat pat and kept quiet.

He took the glass and a long swallow, then smacked his lips and nodded. "Volcanic. What's a classy dame like you doing in a gin joint like this?"

Good. He thought he was in his own Casablanca bar. "The same thing you are. Trying to forget."

"No, I'm trying to remember." He took another bolt of Brimstone Kiss and made a face at the heat, which warmed his unfocused gaze as he took another look at me. "Black hair, blue eyes. Somebody told me about a dame like you, before I fixed it with the Nazis and the corrupt Frenchy and got out of town."

"Out of Casablanca?" I'd always wondered what had happened to Rick after he saw Ilsa off in that plane the midgets were readying for take-off. A famous fact about the movie was that the plane was a model so small the producers hired midgets to be shown working on it in the background. They may have been the ex-Lollipop Leaguers from The Wizard of Oz.

Maybe Ilsa and Victor Lazlo were going to Oz to escape the Nazis.

"Yeah," Rick said now, frowning as his CinSim programming took over again. "I wasn't supposed to leave Casablanca, ever, but that weasel Ugarte showed up again and said I had to find a dame. Black hair, blue eyes, easy on the peepers. You fit the bill on all counts, sweetheart."

"Thanks." I sipped the Albino Vampire, buying time to calm down. "Ugarte" had been played by Peter Lorre, whom I'd just seen during my dangerous expedition to the Karnak.