No Honour Among Thieves

A short story by Hugh Gallagher.

- Hugh Gallagher

HARRY Kivlehan was a big fan of the Republic of Ireland soccer team.

There was nobody he looked up to more than big Jack Charlton.

Like Charlton, he too was a professional, though football was of secondary importance as far as he was concerned.

There would be no trips to the pub and no days off work for him.

You see Harry was a burglar, but he saw himself more as a sneak thief.

This World Cup was his opportunity to make a killing and he relished the thought of all those empty houses.

The first two matches had provided rich pickings, but the Holland game promised to be the bonanza he was waiting for.

Harry had pre-selected this next target – a large secluded mansion up on a hill – on his way back from his last job, the night Ireland drew with Norway.

He had watched the match on video after his return.

He played and re-played that delightful John Sheridan ‘chip’ on his VCR, stolen too, of course!

He was ‘over the moon’ about the result.

Harry lived on his own. He had every comfort, courtesy of a life of crime.

He ran a neat sports car which was the envy of the neighbourhood and he took two foreign holidays each year and had never been collared.

His work involved breaking and entering.

He was 38-years-old and unattached.

His life of crime had begun when he was twenty years old.

He had taken $400 dollars from a tourist’s open bag at a city centre bus station.

On average he did a ‘job’ every week and before each one he ‘cased’ the target.

Holiday times, like Christmas, Easter, Halloween or the Summer meant that people went out to enjoy themselves – and that meant empty houses!

Harry only selected what he considered to be rich houses.