The Marco Effect

28

It was 9:25 and an unusually chilly morning for the time of year as René E. Eriksen stood waiting at the arrivals gate in Kastrup Airport’s Terminal 3.

His sole aim was to get Teis Snap to hand over his shares from Curaçao, and he was confident he would succeed. An ugly scene in public was the last thing Snap wanted, and Eriksen was prepared to kick up a fuss.

Hordes of scorched Danes filed past him in sandals and espadrilles, welcomed home by fluttering Danish flags and warm embraces of reunion. But where the hell was the dickhead? Had he gotten off the plane in Amsterdam? Did he find the whole situation so trivial that canal trips and poffertjes were more important than returning home and getting matters under control?

Or had he found a buyer for the shares that didn’t belong to him?

Eriksen was in despair. If only he could be sure the UPS delivery was on the level. And if it wasn’t, and Snap failed to show, what about his careful timing for the next few days?

He took a deep breath and spared himself the sight of more ridiculous repatriated vacationers as he fidgeted with the car keys in his terylene trousers.

What was the point of waiting if the bastard wasn’t going to turn up?

Then, just as he was about to go, Snap and his wife came strolling through the gates with a pair of suitcases trundling in their wake.

His wife saw him first, her face lighting up in a smile as she pointed. But Snap wasn’t smiling when he realized who she was pointing at.

“What are you doing here?” was the first thing he said.

“Gee, have you been waiting for us, René?” his wife asked. “Sorry we were such a long time, but Teis’s suitcase wasn’t on the conveyor.” She gave her husband a nudge. “You were white as a sheet for half an hour, toots, ha-ha.”

They moved aside, away from the throng, and René got straight to the point.

“The share certificates weren’t in the package you sent. Where are they?”

Snap seemed surprised, shocked almost, which of course he would have been if the certificates really had been in the package as agreed. But this was a different kind of surprise altogether, caused more by the fact that René was already able to confront him with the matter. Or was it because he was able to be there in the first place? Was that it?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, René.” Snap took René by the arm and drew him away from his wife. “Why are you saying this? You can’t possibly have received the package yet. Are you expecting other deliveries?”

There was something about the way he said it that sounded wrong. He was clutching his briefcase too tightly. Everything about him seemed out of sync.

“Don’t take me for a fool, Teis. Don’t you think I know who attacked me yesterday?” He turned his head, indicating the bandage and the bump on the back of his head. “C’mon, show me what you’ve got in that briefcase.”

Snap began fumbling with the handle, then shook his head. “OK, Lisa, we’re leaving. I think René must be suffering from some sort of brain concussion.”

But René grabbed his well upholstered arm. “You’re going nowhere until you’ve shown me what’s inside that briefcase, you bastard.”

Snap turned to his wife. “There’s no reason you should witness this, Lisa. Take the luggage and grab a taxi home. I’ve got some appointments in town today anyway. I’ll be back this evening, darling.”

René let them kiss each other good-bye and attempted to send Snap’s wife a reassuring smile, as the situation dictated. But as soon as she was out of sight, trailing the two Samsonites, he was ready.

“You’re a fool, René,” said Snap, seizing the initiative. “That package hasn’t arrived yet, it’s written all over your face. And what’s all this talk about being attacked? Tell me what happened. Who did it, and where’d it happen?”

OK, so that was his strategy. A halo of innocence shining over the imbecile’s Brylcreemed hair.

“Open your briefcase, Teis,” he commanded, trying to grab it out of Snap’s hand. “I want to see what you’re hiding in it.”

Snap held it tight. “Certainly not. That bump on the head must have knocked the sense out of you. Go home to your wife, René. Take the day off. You need it.”

“Open it, or I’ll make a scene.”

Teis Snap’s eyes narrowed as a smirk appeared on his lips. “You? Make a scene? Excuse my mirth, you silly little man. What on earth is there to make a scene about? You’re losing your powers of judgment, René, can’t you see?”

“Open it, or I’ll kick your fat ass for you.”

Snap shook his head in exasperation and handed him the briefcase.

Right there René knew intuitively that he had lost the first round. Nonetheless, he opened the case and rummaged through its contents: crossword puzzles, magazines, and a copy of the Financial Times.

How blessedly simple. So that was why for once he’d hung around in baggage claim until his suitcase finally turned up. The suitcase his wife was now on her way to Karrebæksminde with, and which he would have been loath to have left in the care of the baggage handling company.

Why hadn’t René seen it coming?

“There are two possibilities here, Teis. Either you’re telling the truth and the shares are on their way to me. Or else you’re not, and those suitcases your little wife took with her have some very interesting contents. If the latter happens to be the case, I’d advise you to deliver the certificates to me immediately, otherwise I shall be going to the police with everything I know.”

Snap didn’t exactly look unnerved by the threat, but he was. René knew the guy too well.

He turned on his heel, glancing at his watch as he strode away. Ten past ten.

The day was still young.