“Crap,” I pulled at my jacket, hoping desperately that it would dislodge.

The police sirens got louder. Closer.

“Come on,” I cried, pulled harder.

The jacket finally came lose with a loud rip.

“Finally!” I exclaimed, running carefully, but hurriedly over the tiles on the roof.

I wore all black to blend in with the night sky, but one shine with a police flashlight and I was done for.

The art museum came into sight. The tall cathedral-type building loomed threateningly over the small suburban houses.

I slid down the side of a house, the rough brick scraping the back of my legs.

I raced around the museum to its back door, which no one knows is there. I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t analyze the museum blueprints inch by inch.

I pushed the flimsy outer cover of the wall aside and wrenched the back door open. A rush of stale, slightly smoky air assaulted me. It was clear this door was rarely, if ever, used.

I walked in and spied a set of creaky, old stairs on the far side of what seemed like an abandoned art studio.

The stairs were on the verge of crumbling and I took great care to step lightly. I stepped over the ruins of a door at the top of the stairs and emerged into the museum’s safe. This was where they kept the expensive, luxurious jewels and artifacts.

There, across the room, was what I had come for. Queen Elizabeth’s crown.

It was beautiful. And worth millions. I was headed for the display, when I heard someone shout.

“Hey! How did you get in here? How did you get past security?!”

“I couldn’t possibly tell you…”

Taking advantage of the security guard’s confusion, I smashed the display box, grabbed the jewels and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Or at least… that’s what he saw.