Molly peered through the binoculars at the bouncy castle writhing with sugar-crazed eight-year-olds. Streamers fluttered from every surface of the suburban backyard like technicolor surrender flags. She lowered the binoculars and turned to Bill, who was adjusting his utility belt over his black turtleneck. "Guards?" Bill whispered. "One grandmother. Asleep." "Perfect." They crept along the hedge, avoiding the sprinkler system that hissed intermittently. Bill pulled out his blueprints of the yard, annotated with crayon for authenticity. The present table sat unguarded near the patio doors, piled high with wrapped boxes in dinosaur paper. A child shrieked. Both thieves froze. "Just excitement," Molly breathed. "The cake comes out at two-fifteen." "Then we move at two-fourteen." Bill checked his watch and frowned. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles digital display showed 2:13. They army-crawled across the lawn, past abandoned juice boxes and crushed Goldfish crackers. The mission was almost too easy. Then the clown arrived. Molly grabbed Bill's shoulder as the painted nightmare emerged from the side gate, juggling badly and heading straight for the present table. "Abort?" Bill asked. "Never."