Chapter 6: The White Figure

As I started, the woman suddenly asked, "Excuse me, about how long will it take to open the door?"

Her voice broke the silence, catching me off guard. The fluorescent light above us flickered, making the shadows dance across the hallway.

"About ten minutes or so," I replied while working.

She bit her lip, fidgeted with her sleeve. I caught the nervous glance she threw over my shoulder, toward the darkened end of the hallway.

"Could... could you be a little quicker?"

I glanced at her and noticed her eyes darting, as if she was watching something behind me. She seemed to be glancing—intentionally or not—at the hallway behind me.

I paused, tool in hand, and followed her gaze. The hallway stretched behind me, empty, the air oddly still. The old exit sign buzzed softly, but otherwise, nothing moved.

I turned to look as well, but all I saw was a dim, empty corridor.

Just the hum of the building’s machinery and the soft tick of my wristwatch. I shrugged it off, trying to ignore the prickle at the back of my neck.

I frowned and said, "This lock is really stubborn, but I’ll try to be faster."

I forced a smile and leaned in, pretending to struggle more than I really was. No sense scaring her further.

Truthfully, I could have opened that lock in seconds. But I always drag out the time—otherwise, customers think you earned the money too easily and resent paying.

Experience had taught me the hard way that people respect the hustle but resent the quick fix. If I snapped it open in three seconds, they’d act like I robbed them.

I learned this the hard way once. I opened a deadbolt for someone using just a piece of string and some wire. It took me only a few moves. The owner was stunned, and when it came time to pay, they tried to haggle. I explained that this was skilled work and not priced by the minute, but they didn’t care. In the end, they tossed me ten bucks and sent me away.

I still remember their face—confused, a little smug. They probably bragged to their friends about how they swindled the locksmith. After that, I promised myself: never again. A little theater goes a long way.

Since then, I’ve been careful. No matter how easy the job, no matter how anxious the customer, I make sure to spend at least ten minutes on it. I’ve realized that unlocking requires not just skill, but acting. Customers like to see you working hard.

So I play the part—grunting, fiddling with tools, swapping out picks just for show. I made a show of grunting and swapping tools, the metal clinking louder than usual in the dead hallway. Ten minutes buys their peace of mind, and my bill gets paid without complaint.