Molly spread the blueprint across the sticky diner table, pushing aside half-eaten pancakes. "Okay, so the Johnson residence. Six-year-old's birthday party, Saturday, two o'clock sharp." "This is insane, Molly. We're hitting a kid's birthday party?" "Bill, listen to me. Do you know what parents spend on these things nowadays? We're talking designer toys, electronics, cash in those little envelopes. It's basically a miniature Fort Knox with balloon animals." Bill rubbed his temples. "I can't believe I'm even having this conversation." "Look at the layout. French doors leading to the backyard, that's our entry point. Party's in the living room, presents stacked by the fireplace. We go in through the kitchen, grab the goods, out in three minutes tops." "What about the kids?" "What about them? They'll be sugar-high zombies watching some princess make balloon swords. We'll be invisible." "Invisible. At a children's party. Have you ever met a six-year-old? They notice everything. 'Who's that strange man? Why is he putting presents in a bag? Mommy, the bad man took my Legos!'" "That's why we need disguises." "Oh no." "Hear me out. Party entertainers. You'll be Bingo the Clown, I'll be Sparkles the Magical Fairy." "Absolutely not." "Bill, when have I ever steered you wrong?" "The museum heist where you insisted the guards were mannequins. The bank job where you forgot banks are closed on Sundays. The time you tried to steal that food truck while the owner was still inside making tacos." "Those were learning experiences. This is foolproof. We show up, say we're the surprise entertainment, mingle for five minutes, then I'll create a distraction while you load the presents." "What kind of distraction?" "Magic trick gone wrong. Fake emergency. Maybe I accidentally release the birthday boy's hamster." "They might not have a hamster." "Every kid has a hamster, Bill. It's like a law or something." Bill stared at the blueprint. "What's this X mark in the garage?" "That's where Mr. Johnson keeps his vintage Corvette." "We're not stealing a Corvette from a kid's party." "Of course not, that would be wrong. We're professionals. We have standards." "Standards. Right. Says the woman planning to rob six-year-olds." "We're robbing their parents, technically. Big difference. Huge moral distinction." "I don't think a judge would see it that way." "Which is why we won't get caught. Look, it's simple. We go in, grab maybe thirty presents, forty tops—" "Forty presents?" "Rich neighborhood, Bill. These kids get iPads as party favors. Trust me, I've done reconnaissance. Mrs. Johnson's Facebook is very detailed." "You stalked them on Facebook?" "Research, not stalking. There's another moral distinction for you." Bill sighed deeply. "What's our exit strategy?" "Same way we came in, unless things go south. Then we use the bathroom window." "Bathroom window. At our age." "Yoga's been paying off. I'm very bendy now." "If I agree to this—and I'm not saying yes—I'm not wearing a clown nose." "Deal. But you're keeping the wig." The diner's bell chimed as new customers entered. Molly quickly folded the blueprint, smiling innocently.