Molly sprawled across the lumpy couch, studying the crayon-drawn invitation like it was the Rosetta Stone. "Madison's Magical Unicorn Party," she read aloud, tapping the glitter-encrusted card. "Two o'clock sharp. Bouncy castle in the backyard." "A bouncy castle," Bill muttered from his position at the kitchen table, surrounded by graph paper and colored pencils. "Of course there's a bouncy castle." The apartment smelled of instant ramen and desperation, with a hint of the vanilla candle Molly had shoplifted last week to "class up the joint." Blueprints of the Henderson house covered every available surface, annotated with Bill's increasingly frantic handwriting. "Listen to this guest list," Molly said. "Sixteen kids, all between ages five and seven. That's at least sixteen presents, probably more if the grandparents show up." "Grandparents always bring the good stuff. Cash in those birthday cards." "Exactly. Plus Madison's mom posted on Facebook about hiring a actual pony. You know what that costs? These people have money to burn." Bill looked up from his diagrams, adjusting his reading glasses. The same glasses he'd worn for his mugshot six months ago. "Security?" "One bored teenager manning the front door, probably Madison's cousin. Back entrance through the garden gate. No cameras that I could spot during my reconnaissance." "Your reconnaissance? You mean when you pretended to be a lost jogger?" "Hey, it worked, didn't it? I even got offered lemonade." Bill traced a path on his hand-drawn map with his finger. The route led from the back gate, around the pool, past the greenhouse, and through the French doors into the living room where, according to Molly's intelligence, the present table would be stationed. "Timing's everything," he said. "We go in during peak chaos. Cake time." "Cake time is sacred, Bill. Every adult will be filming, every kid will be screaming. It's perfect." "What about our covers?" Molly grinned, producing two badges from her pocket. "Balloon Animal Entertainment Services. I already called Mrs. Henderson and told her we were a surprise bonus from Grandma. We're scheduled to arrive right at cake time for a quick performance." "You don't know how to make balloon animals." "YouTube University, baby. I can do a dog and a sword. That's enough to buy us five minutes." Bill rubbed his temples. After thirty years in the game, he was reduced to stealing from six-year-olds. His mother would be so proud. Then again, his mother had taught him to pick pockets at the mall when he was eight, so maybe she would be. "Transportation?" he asked. "Stolen mime van from that bankrupt circus company. Already has balloons painted on the side." "Of course you stole a mime van." "It was poetic. Mimes don't talk, perfect getaway vehicle for a stealth operation." Bill stood up, gathering his plans. Outside, a police siren wailed in the distance, and they both froze out of habit before relaxing. "One last question," Bill said. "What kind of person steals from a kid's birthday party?" "The kind who needs rent money and has flexible morals?" "Fair enough. Let's rob some toddlers."