Paper First

(A dry cleaner’s on Dexter Avenue, six minutes after closing time. Ryan puts his bag down in front of the safe.)

Shop owner: Everything’s in there. Friday’s money, the whole day.

Ryan: When did the keypad last work?

Shop owner: This morning. I put the money in at five, and now I press the buttons and there’s nothing. No light, no sound.

Ryan: How much time have I got? Latest I can stay is seven. I’ve got another call in Ferndale.

Shop owner: Then please start.

Ryan: One thing first. Is the shop yours?

Shop owner: What?

Ryan: I need to see a paper with your name on it. I don’t open a safe for anybody who can’t show me one.

Shop owner: I’m standing in my own shop. I have the key in my hand.

Ryan: A key isn’t a name. Look, it’s not a lack of trust. It’s the job. I opened a safe for a very nice man in March and the police called me about it in April.

Shop owner: My papers are in the safe. That’s where I keep them.

Ryan: Then here’s the deal. I open it, you show me the paper, and then you touch the money. In that order.

Shop owner: Fine. Deal.

(Ryan takes the cover off the keypad and looks inside for eight seconds.)

Ryan: Your battery’s dead.

Shop owner: That’s it? That’s the whole thing?

Ryan: Ninety dollars for coming out. Two dollars for the battery.

(The safe door opens. The shop owner reaches in for the money.)

Ryan: Paper first.