“I’m not a burglar,” I’d tell the cops who’d come to me, and they’d look at me like I’m crazy. “I’m one of the only international cat burglars alive today.” Then there’s these copycat burglars. Even while I’m locked up, I hear there’s articles in the paper in Palm Beach about thieves taking jewelry who remind the cops of The Dinner Set Gang – me and Don. But they’re nothin’ like us. All these copycats never were – they weren’t patient, go to empty houses, or jerks brought guns if people were there. They didn’t know how to do it – have the skill or guts to do it right. There’s one big reason for that – I never taught nobody, other than Don. Don and I kept it in the family – safer that way.
For years after we were done, local cops would come to us whenever there was a burglary and say “we think it was you guys.” I would ask ‘em, “was it a giant mansion that was hit?” They say no. I ask, “was over a million dollars taken?” They say no. So I tell ‘em, “When it is, then you come talk to me. ‘Cause it wasn’t us.” I’d tell ‘em they were dealing with amateurs, bumbling idiots.
The FBI’s been tracking us for more than 26 years. One of our main FBI guys, from the time we disappeared for a while, would tell the local cops, “We took them out of circulation. If I let them loose, there wouldn’t be a diamond left in Palm Beach.”
We did come back when we had to. And there were guys from in the family and outside who heard stories, thought they could copy us. Forget it. Copycats, amateurs. Interesting the cops still compare people to us, but if we ever came back, they’d know it… maybe they wouldn’t.