Crimson streaked the evening sky as Molly peered through binoculars at the suburban house decked with balloons and streamers. Below her, Bill nervously fidgeted with his lock-picking tools on the rooftop of their parked van. "Would you look at that haul," Molly whistled, passing the binoculars. "Birthday boy's got at least twenty presents stacked by the window. Designer wrapping too." Bill squinted through the lenses. "Jesus, Molly. They're eight-year-olds. This feels wrong even for us." "Wrong? That family has a bouncy castle in their backyard. In this economy?" She snatched back the binoculars. "Besides, we're saving those kids from capitalism's clutches." Bill snorted. "Pretty sure that's not how it works." "Look, the parents ordered three—count 'em, three—custom ice cream cakes. These are not people hurting for cash." Molly collapsed the binoculars with a decisive snap. "We go in at eight when they're doing the backyard scavenger hunt." "What if a kid needs to use the bathroom?" "That's why you're wearing the clown suit." Bill's eyes widened. "Absolutely not. We agreed no costumes after the museum job." "That was different. No one expects a Picasso to be stolen by someone dressed as Picasso." "The mustache was itchy." Molly unzipped her duffel bag, revealing a garish polka-dotted jumpsuit. "You'll be Giggles, the entertainment that showed up at the wrong time. I'll be the harried assistant who needs to use the restroom while simultaneously apologizing for the mix-up." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "And while I'm distracting them with what? My non-existent balloon animal skills?" "I've got you covered." She tossed him a small handbook. "Balloon Animals for Dummies. Read the first chapter. You only need to make a snake." "A snake? That's just an inflated balloon!" "Exactly! Even you can't mess that up." Bill flipped through the pages halfheartedly. "What about the dog? Won't it bark?" "The neighbors mentioned they're boarding their precious Mitzi while renovating." "You talked to the neighbors? What happened to keeping a low profile?" "Relax. I posed as a census taker. Very believable. Had a clipboard and everything." Bill groaned. "Okay, fine. But we're donating half to the children's hospital like last time." "Quarter." "Half." "Fine," Molly conceded, "but I'm keeping the Nintendo. My nephew's birthday is next month." "I thought your sister disowned you after you showed up at Thanksgiving with those stolen truffles." "They weren't stolen. They fell off a truck." "Into your purse?" "Details." Molly waved dismissively. "Put on the nose. Game time in fifteen." Bill reluctantly reached for the red foam ball. "Just so we're clear, I'm only doing this because rent's due." "And because you love the thrill." "I hate the thrill. The thrill gives me acid reflux." "Then why do you smirk every time we pull off a job?" Bill applied spirit gum to the nose. "That's a grimace of existential dread, not a smirk." "Sure it is, Giggles. Sure it is." Molly grinned, zipping up her sensible assistant blazer. "Now honk your nose. We've got presents to liberate."