Molly spread the blueprint across the sticky diner table. "The bouncy castle blocks our best exit route." "We go through the ball pit instead," Bill said, adjusting his clown wig. "I've done the calculations. Those plastic balls will provide adequate cover." "You've calculated ball pit logistics?" "Professional standards, Molly." He tapped the map. "The piñata hangs here. That's where they'll stash the premium gifts—tablets, gaming consoles, those fancy robot dogs." "What about the birthday kid?" "Little Timmy Fitzgerald, age seven. Obsessed with dinosaurs. I've prepared dinosaur facts as a distraction technique." Molly stared at him. "This is a new low, even for us." "The Fitzgeralds have three vacation homes. These kids get backup presents." Bill pulled out a juice box, sipping it thoughtfully. "We synchronize watches at cake time. Sugar crash hits exactly eighteen minutes after peak frosting consumption." "Speaking of which, you didn't use your real name on the birthday RSVP, right?" "Of course not. I'm registered as Professor Bubbles the Magnificent." He honked a small horn attached to his belt. "Had to stay in character." "I hate this plan already," Molly muttered, but she was already reaching for her face paint.