The Art of the Heist: Confessions of a Master Thief

The Art of the Heist: Confessions of a Master Thief

Language: English

Pages: 304

ISBN: 0061672297

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


“A gripping tell-all….A fascinating look inside the mind of an unrepentant criminal.”
Washington Post

“One of the most beguiling criminal memoirs ever written….A rare gem of a book.”
—T. J. English, New York Times bestselling author of Havana Nocturne

 

America’s most notorious art thief, Boston-based Myles Connor, tells the unapologetic true story of his life of crime in The Art of the Heist. Co-written with acclaimed author Jenny Siler, Connor’s eye-opening memoirs offer readers a rare, detailed, and intimate look into the mindset of a master criminal—a cat burglar, thief, and con man, veteran of numerous brazen museum heists, who shares the unparalleled “rush” of a life lived on the far side of the law.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

found, seeking advice. Duarte told the jury that Sperrazza, who said he’d been talking to police about the case, had been especially concerned about what would happen to him if he were found out to be lying. “He told me, ‘Connor was not there, he had nothing to do with the murders,’” Duarte testified. One of the final defense witnesses to testify was Ozzy DePriest. Determined to leave no doubt in the jury’s mind as to Doreen Weeks’s ability to fabricate, Earle Cooley had decided to bring Ozzy

assaulted her. But the accusation had been made, and it stuck. It was a good thing I was in jail when I found out about the allegations. Had I not been locked up, I have no doubt I would have hunted down Grant and killed him for involving my son in his sordid dealings. In November 1989, eight months after my arrest in Bloomington, I pleaded guilty to all the charges against me, which included possession of cocaine with intent to distribute and conspiracy to distribute. My adventure, begun all

Unfortunately, my misgivings proved to be warranted. David’s visit was the last time I heard from either man. The following summer U.S. District Judge Richard Mills sentenced me to twenty years in prison, more than double the sentence requested by the prosecutor in the case. “You’re obviously a smart man,” Judge Mills told me. “Someone could write a book about you someday, but no one would believe it.” In the fall of 1990 I was transferred to the federal penitentiary in Lompoc, California. Not

Most of them were in New England, but I also hit several prestigious institutions in New York City, Washington D.C., and Toronto. My methods varied. Sometimes I only planned the heist and left the actual breaking and entering to my crew members. Other times I used deception to get what I wanted. But the result was always the same. The combined take from these thefts was enormous, eventually numbering in the millions of dollars. One of the first of these targets was the Mead Art Museum in

they’d run backstage and change into motorcycle jackets and dungarees, transforming themselves into a rock-and-roll band. Al’s strategy worked brilliantly. Far from being a problem, the contrast in musical styles was a huge asset, broadening the appeal of both bands. On my nights off from the Lewis Room, we were soon playing shows at teen halls all over the Boston area. We eventually scored a steady gig at a place called Broadcove Teen Haven in Hingham, which was owned by a friend of my

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