How To Pick Locks Novels & Stories

I had ten minutes before the system activated—motion sensors, alarms, the works. Ten minutes to get in, plant the bug, and get out, as my heart pounded, but my hands were steady. I’d done this before, and I was built for this. I slipped through the shadows, sticking to the side of the house. The back door was my entry point, less exposed, easier to pick. I crouched low, pulling a lockpick from my bag, as I worked on the lock. The lock was high-end, but I was faster, as my fingers moved with practiced precision, the tumblers clicking into place.

Still nothing happened. Margaret was careful, but she was also curious. If she heard someone at the door, she would at least check the camera or the peephole. Unless she wasn’t able to. I stepped back slightly and studied the lock. It was basic, therefore it would be easy to open with the right tools. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small metal pick. The hallway stayed quiet while I worked the lock slowly. It clicked open after a few seconds. I pushed the door open just enough to look inside.

Not once he'd seen them. "I'll let you go." Mason holstered his gun and pulled out his lock-picking set. None of them responded. Mason crept across the open space. Everything in the sphere of their reach was clean. It was outside that where squalor reined. He knelt next to the post and selected one of the locks securing the chains in place. The picks were tiny in his hands, small things, but he'd done this act a hundred times. All locks had the same pieces and these were nothing fancy. It would only take a moment, but a lot could happen in a short span of time.

I grab a couple and jog back over. Dropping down to my knees, I straighten the hair pin and shove it inside the keyhole and begin twisting it around with no rhyme or reason and certainly no technique. They always make it look so easy in the movies and I'm just hoping to hear a pop and then, ta-da! But, I quickly find out that isn't the case. Sweating, I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead and redouble my efforts to pick this damn lock. But all that happens is I get the bobby pin jammed in there good and when I try to pull it out, the stupid thing snaps in half.

I handed him a handkerchief to wipe the bile from the side of his mouth. “We have to get out,” he whispered, reaching into his doublet. He pulled out what looked like two long, thin pins with differently shaped ends. “You know how to pick a lock?” “No.” “Well, you’re about to learn.” David pushed himself up so he was seated, slumped against the side of my bed, and tossed the lockpicks to me. I caught them and stared at them warily. “What if someone’s outside the door?” I asked. “Then we’ll deal with them. Surely you know how to use the sharp end of a knife?”

I was going to be blacklisted from every cleaning job in the state. I knelt down beside the desk, my heart pounding against my ribs like a drum solo. I inserted the bobby pin into the tiny keyhole, my breath held tight in my chest. I’d watched a YouTube video on how to pick a simple lock once. For… reasons. I jiggled the pin, my other hand twisting the makeshift tension wrench I’d made from another pin. Click. The sound was so loud in the silent room it made me jump. It worked. The fucking thing worked.

I searched around for a lock or something and luckily for me, the door was held together by a weak looking padlock. I guess since this place wasn’t used as often, they didn’t care to use a better lock. Good. This was my forte. Prying open padlocks I mean. I’d been able to pick locks since I was twelve. So, seeing this weak padlock staring at me, it felt like faith was on my side. I drew out the two hairpins that were on my head, leaving my hair to fall flat on my face and got to work. I stuck the first pin into the lock then immediately followed it with the second. I wiggled them a few times until I heard a click.

Even though it is small, it's not thin enough to insert inside the lock, which means I need to change my approach. Lock in hand, I open the knife, and begin to scrape the left hand side of the lock. I continue scraping, until I can feel small circular dots begin to form, telling me that I have managed to reach the pins in the side of the lock. I continue to work as fast as I can, until a can feel the pins dropping out of the side of the lock. I quickly swim back up, getting some more air, before having to go back under. Xavier picks me up as soon as I emerge from the water.

Over time, I learned how to force simple locks open. And right now, that childish habit might actually save my life. Quickly, I pulled one of the pins from my hair, letting the carefully styled curls loosen messily around my shoulders. Then I crouched before the lock, my trembling fingers carefully inserting the pin inside while twisting it slowly, trying to feel the mechanism hidden inside the padlock. My entire focus centered on the lock. My trembling fingers wrapped around it as I twisted it carefully. I turned it once. Then pushed the door. Nothing.

Josh read the article again and got ready to open the locker. He held the shackle on top and pushed the dial to the left. He spun the dial around and the lock clicked between 8 and 10. Quickly he told Zoey to scribble 15 on a sheet of paper. This done he turned the lock backwards till it'd reset itself. Then he spun it forward, gently applying pressure on the shackle. The lock bumped as if it'd hit something and Josh told Zoey to write 4 on the same paper. Now Josh had to guess between the numbers. He tried different combinations but it refused to open. He tried the other way, putting pressure on the shackle and the lock clicked several times.