And then you heard it land. That was the part he liked. The first night, he had not expected it. He had closed the door and heard the bag slither off the hopper, and there had been a pause, a real pause, long enough to take half a breath, and then, from somewhere deep in the wall, far below, a heavy soft thump, like a sack of rice dropped into the hold of a ship. The sound had gone through him. It was the sound of money going where it was supposed to go, out of reach, safe. He had stood there with his hand still on the handle, absurdly pleased, and every night since he had waited for it, half a breath and then the thump, and he had never once been disappointed.
He walked up to the night drop now and took the key on its red tag out of his jeans pocket. The floodlight above the faceplate buzzed faintly and threw his shadow down at his feet, short and black. He glanced back toward Broadway. The street was empty. The white van in the auto-parts lot was out of sight from here, behind the corner of the building.
He unzipped his jacket halfway and took the bag out of his inside pocket. Clear plastic, the white strip across the top, 4471-0938. He put the key in and turned it. He pulled the handle and the door swung down, and he laid the bag in the hopper, flat, the way Elwood had shown him, so it wouldn't catch, and he lifted the door closed.
The bag slithered.
There was no pause.
There was a sound, almost at once, right there behind the faceplate, not deep in the wall but close, so close he could have touched it: a short, light, metallic tick, like a spoon dropped onto a steel counter. And then nothing.
Lorenz stood with his hand on the handle.
He waited. He did not know what he was waiting for. For the thump, maybe, as if it might be late. It did not come. The floodlight buzzed. Somewhere down Taylor Street a car door slammed and a woman laughed, and the laugh went away down the street.
He thought: it stuck. The hopper didn't tilt all the way, or the bag folded wrong and hung on the lip. That must happen sometimes.
If it was stuck in the hopper, then anybody who came along with a key could open the door and take it. And everybody who banked here with a business account had the same key. Elwood had told him that too. Every night drop key at this branch was cut alike; the bank just handed them out. The lock was not what kept the money safe. The fall was what kept it safe. The drop into the steel vault behind the wall, where no key from outside could reach it.
He turned the key again and pulled the handle and the door came down.