Authors note: Anyone like the title? Anyone have any suggestions. Let me know what you think of this story.
Thanks for reading
Letter to the reader:
I have a job. I am working man. I consider myself a hard working citizen that works for a living. I'm not any different from any of you. I go to my job, work hard, collect my earnings. Same as you, same as the person sitting on the train next to you. We're not different. We have more in common then you know. We just have different jobs. I prefer to think of my job as the worlds oldest profession. No, I am not a prostitute. My line of work goes much farther back. To times of old, where greed and pride ruled and we were all just their subjects. The time of Thieves.
Miles "Steal" Steele
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Miles Steele smiled to himself as he heard the last of the tumblers click into place. He gently removed his tools from the lock and placed them back into a sack hanging around his neck. He then took his gloved hand and turned the door handle. It turned and the door opened. Miles looked around the deserted street, to make sure there were no witnesses. When he was convinced there were none, he slowly opened the door and went inside, closing the door behind him. He was in the home of a mid-forty English man he had met at the bar earlier. Miles had sat with the man and they had joked and told old stories like old friends instead of the strangers they were. The man had continued to drink during the conversation and already had several empty bottles littering the table and floor before Miles had gotten to the table. Around 1am, the man said he had enough and Miles generously offered him a ride. The man, too drunk to drive or walk home and spending all his cash on booze, took the offer. They had hopped in Miles' 1994 Ford pick-up and sped off.
"I just live on Rosen Street," the man had said weekly.
"I know where that is," Miles had replied. "Don't worry, I'll have you home in a jiffy." But the words were wasted because right after the man told him the street name, he had fallen into a deep sleep.
A few minutes later, Miles gently shook him awake and helped him up the front stairs to his door. The man took out his keys and opened his door, thanked Miles, then disappeared behind it. Miles walked back to his car and started it up. He then drove for about five minutes then flipped a u-turn and drove back to the house. He had parked a block away and got out and walked to the house. It was Miles' system, his way of life, his bread and butter. As he walked across the threshold, he was careful not to make any noise. He smiled to himself at the thought; he was a professional thief, he didn't need to remind himself. Besides, the man was drunk; he's not getting up for anything. The thief snuck into the bedroom, the silence of the night being broken by the man's loud snoring. Miles tiptoes to his nightstand. He grabbed his wallet and wristwatch from the table and slowly made his way to the bathroom. He clicked on a penlight and started looking around the room. He searched the bathroom and found what he was looking for.
"Bingo," he said under his breath. He walked over to a small box on the counter. He picked it up and looked through it. Inside were several diamond necklaces and some small diamond and gold rings. He grabbed on of the necklaces and held up, the light sparkling off the diamonds. He smiled.