Keyon's agent has dropped him, but he's still getting work: a poolside fashion shoot at the Grace hotel in New York, a backstage job on The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency. He speaks about his arrest with icy detachment. But for now, his alleged actions and their consequences are inseparable—he's due to be tried this spring for burglary and other charges related to the beauty-shop break-in.

What he said to police is the centerpiece of the prosecution's case. During his interrogation the day of the arrest, police say, Keyon stated not only that his brother was "the mastermind" behind the crime but that his mother was in on the scheme as a second lookout. The cops say they saw her white Sequoia leave the scene. She awaits her court date with her sons. As for Keyon, he's counting on the defense-strategy hope that the police can't connect him to the other break-ins they claim the Goffneys orchestrated. "They caught me [at the beauty shop]—I'm not denying it," he says. "But prove to me I was at 40 different places. Anything I told [the police], it was out of fear."

The survival instinct is to the Goffneys what omertà is to La Cosa Nostra. When the heat came down in South Philly, the cops say, Taleon ran. Mom sped off. Keyon, alone and crying in the interrogation room, said what he said. He frequently mentions his love for his mother and brother, but then again, in Keyon's quid pro quo world, relationships are often transactional. "You protect your neck," he says. "I care about people who care about me. Anybody else, relative or not, you don't care about me? Fuck you."

Taleon's knack for making police look foolish has made him a big target for the district attorney's office. He's been locked up in Pennsylvania since February 2008, and in November he was sentenced to up to eight years in prison for a one-man rooftop burglary. He's awaiting sentencing for the alleged Houdini-style escape in New Jersey, which prosecutors there have nicknamed the "Superfly" case.

Even if Keyon stays out of jail, his modeling dream has become warped with irony—he's not famous for his face; he's infamous for his deeds. It's hard to imagine anything stranger could follow the Goffney boys' bizarre saga, but it's easy to picture Keyon cashing in a friend's frequent-flier miles and shipping off to Los Angeles. With his pretty face, his newly buff pecs, and his backstory of danger, sex, and life on the mean streets, he is a reality-TV star waiting to be born. The modeling business, once his ticket to a glamorous new life, is now inextricably tied to his sordid past. "It's a hustle," Keyon says. "Just like anything else."