How To Pick Locks Novels & Stories

I reach into my bag. The lockpick case is in the inner pocket where it always lives, slim and worn at the edges from years of archive use. I crouch in front of his door and I work the lock, feeling for the tumblers the way I learned to years ago on a stuck archive door, and it takes longer than usual because residential locks are built differently, but eventually something gives and the door swings open and I go in.

He thought to himself with a smile. “I’ve picked this lock quite a few times, it won’t take me long” Teka smiled, inserting both of the slender metal pieces into the keyhole. Looking quite intensely at the keyhole, Teka dragged the hook shaped pick back and forth holding the slender piece stationary with her other hand. Soon Rex and Teka heard a small ‘click’ and she turned the slender metal bar like a key. Opening the gate, under Teka’s instructions, they continued into the area that Teka said had the holding cells.

Finally, I managed to hook the bone with my fingers and dragged it back toward me. I sat back on my heels, staring at the bone in my hand. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. The old woman who trained me after I was kidnapped had taught me many things, and one of them was how to pick a lock with something as simple as a bone. Never did i think I would need that particular lesson. I inserted the thin end of the bone into the lock. My hands shook slightly as I began to work. I had to stay calm. If I panicked, I would mess this up. I took a deep breath, focusing all my attention on what I was doing.

As she works, Jenny thinks of Richard, who taught her the art of picking different types of locks. "You have to feel the lock, imagine what it looks like inside. Use your hands, feel the vibrations, and listen for the clicks," he had instructed. When Jenny questioned why she needed to learn this skill, Richard explained that as the daughter of an important politician, she could find herself in unpredictable situations. Though she had initially believed that only criminals picked locks, Richard showed her it was a valuable skill for anyone. "Think about it, Jenny," he had said, guiding her hands and setting the pins aside. "If you're ever kidnapped, you could free yourself. Or imagine discove

She's living behind a barricade in her own goddamn home, with those degenerates a few feet away. That won't fucking do. No door, no locks, no shitty little apartment is going to keep me from her. I slide a hand into my jacket, fingers brushing over the small case I always keep on me. A lock is just an invitation when you know how to work one. I crouch slightly, slipping the pick into place. One little twist and I hear the click. With one final push, the lock gives.

I've learned how to lock pick, and now I have the perfect tool in my hands. I've noticed a five-minute window between each guard's watch, and I'm waiting for the perfect moment to make my move.

Nodding in acknowledgment, I withdrew a hairpin from my tresses. Again, I glanced over my shoulder, verifying that no curious onlookers disrupted my imminent endeavor. Facing the door, I squatted down, straightening the hairpin to match the hole's dimensions. With gentle pressure, I skillfully wiggled the pin, gradually discovering the various pins within the lock mechanism. Employing the hairpin's end, I deftly pushed up each pin, mimicking the action of unlocking a door with a genuine key. Simultaneously, I endeavored to rotate it, persisting in this repetitive process as my hands grew increasingly damp and my heart pounded relentlessly. Periodically, I stole glances behind me, confirming

Somehow I felt my answers would be in that book, and I wouldn’t let a lock keep me from knowing the truth. After searching for a while, I got exhausted, and I pulled out my hair pin to pick the lock. People do it in the movies, but it never really worked for me. I tried for several minutes but the lock wouldn’t open, so I gave up and decided to look for other alternatives.

It could be picked if you had the right tools. I took out the hairpin in my hair—it wasn’t much, but it might work. I knelt down in front of the door and inserted the hairpin into the lock. My hands were shaking slightly from nerves. Shane had taught me how to pick a lock during our training lessons because he claimed it was a very important skill to have. If only he knew how right he was. Come on, I thought desperately. Come on, please work. After what felt like an eternity, I heard a soft click.

What can I do now? I hadn't come this far only to give up. There had to be something I could do. I asked myself. I paced about until I remembered that Kris had taught me to pick locks just for the fun of it when we were younger. We used to play games that involved locking ourselves up and I had gotten quite good at picking locks after several trials. That was a long time ago and I could only hope I had enough muscle and mental memory left to be able to pick this lock. I silently got to work, stopping every few minutes to check for anyone coming. My hands trembled and my heart raced but I continued to tinker with it. I nearly screamed out in triumph when I heard the lock click open.