Thomas was, for the most part, unassuming. He was slight of build, middle-aged, wore glasses, and covered his bald pate with a fedora when he ventured out of doors. He rarely ventured out of his apartment unless he had a job. Thomas was gifted with deformity: an extra knuckle on his right index finger, which he kept covered by a glove, or ensconced in a pocket, especially when around strangers. As a child, Thomas had borne the brunt of much teasing over the weirding finger, but as an adult, he’d found the increased dexterity came in handy, pardon the pun, when picking locks. As such, he hired himself out and made a comfortable living at his trade. He thought he’d never find a lock he couldn’t open; that is, until he met Sylvia.