'Don't let Rick know I'm here yet,' she said to the concierge. He'll start saying that we'll always have Paris, and I shall have to break his heart by telling him the truth.'
So, Ilsa, what exactly is the truth?'
'The velociraptors have taken over. It's like a B-movie, but with better special effects. They're hiding in the elevators in the Eiffel Tower – six tourists a day are disappearing from that spot alone. The Champs Elysees? Fingers and toes are all over the place. By the way, did you know that velociraptors don't like fingers and toes?'
'These are sad tidings, Ilsa,' the concierge sympathized. 'It was bad enough that the brave French had to fight that awful Hitler, and what was their reward? A scourge of dinosaurs now.'
'Well, there's good news and bad news about Hitler,' Ilsa said. 'The good news is that Hitler was lunch for a Tyrannosaurus Rex last month..'
'...And the bad news?'
'Hitler taught the Rex everything he knew before he got eaten. Europe will soon be crawling with Nazi dinosaurs...'
'It already is sweetheart,' said a voice behind them. It was Rick, in his trademark trenchcoat, a bemused smile on his inscrutable lips. 'And these dinosaurs are not just Nazis. They're much worse than that...'
'You mean they're....car salesmen?' Ilsa gasped.
'Some are,' Rick replied,' and some are lawyers, and some are gourmet chefs who have degrees from the Cordon Bleu, who could serve you as a nice roast with a little curry, or maybe a casserole with noodles and a little hollandaise sauce with some saffron and a tangy broth of lemon juice or wine.'
'You've been making up today's menu, haven't you, Rick?' said the concierge sarcastically.
'No, you're wrong about that,' said Rick, removing his trenchcoat to reveal the body of a velociraptor which had somehow managed to replace the body he once had. 'I am now one of them, and I think your little problems aren't worth a hill of beans...though, come to think of it, a hill of garbanzo beans would add a nice flavor accent to the stew that I plan to put you in, with maybe a little basil and some oregano.'
Luckily for Ilsa and the concierge, Rick saw himself in the mirror as he approached, distracting himself. He stopped to groom himself, giving them time to escape. They heard him say 'here's looking at you, kid,' as they fled.
Ilsa and the concierge got into the plane that would take them to freedom. 'Well soon be safe,' the concierge said.
'Safe?' Ilsa scoffed. 'This is still a B-movie. We could be an airline disaster.'
'No, the closing credits are on the screen. The film's over, and we're still in one piece. We still need one last piece of dialogue'
'Well, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'
'No, you're wrong about that,' said the lady across the aisle, who had the face of Julia Child and the tail of a velociraptor. 'The last line is, 'here's looking at you, quiche.''