He tucked his right thumb into his palm and clamped down. With a dull thud his digit fell out of place and the rusted manacle slipped from his wrist. A neat little trick he’d learned from The King of Handcuffs, Houdini.
Hands freed, he ripped a button from his shirt and used the metal clasp — bent to a straight pick — to unlock the pitiful, antique lock.
He eyed the object playfully on one free finger. A wry smile wrapped his face. Amateurs. Like thirty year old Blonnack cuffs could keep Veller, The Peerless fettered.
Veller tossed the tarnished, dent-riddled bracelets to his rat-chewed, sweat-damp sleeping mat and scrubbed the orange rust-slime onto his pant legs.