“How'd you get in here?"She raised her eyebrows. “You pick pockets.” Kat watched his hand fly to his back pocket. “I can pick locks. Looking for this?” she asked, holding up his wallet. “Oops. Maybe I can pick pockets too.”
“pick pocketed your own pocket”
“She reached into the pocket of her dress and threw the small stack of bills at him. They fluttered to the ground like broken dreams. "I hope you choke onevery penny.""Pick that up."She drew back her arm and slapped him as hard as she could.”
“Michael stands at the dresser, putting his comb into his back right pocket, his wallet into his back left pocket, his keys into his front right pocket. A place for everything , and everything in its proper place. Except, perhaps, his wife.”
“Philanthropist. A rich (and usually bald) old gentleman who has trained himself to grin while his conscience is picking his pocket...”
“I'm still picking pockets--I just do it as legally as I can. Being married to a cop limits certain activities.”