"You're serious?" Bill squinted at the crayon-drawn floor plan. "We're actually doing this?" "It's foolproof," Molly said. "Little Timmy Henderson turns seven tomorrow. Intel says his mom ordered the platinum edition Space Rangers set." "Intel? You mean Facebook?" "Irrelevant. Point is, we slip in during pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, grab the goods, and vanish." "What about the parents?" "They'll be in the kitchen, drinking wine and complaining about screen time." "The clown?" "Distraction. Nobody watches the presents when a clown's making balloon animals." Bill rubbed his temples. "We've robbed banks, Molly. Casinos. That thing with the yacht—" "Which went sideways because you forgot to check the tide schedule." "—and now we're hitting a seven-year-old's birthday party?" "The Space Rangers set resells for two grand." "Two grand?" "Mint condition. Still in box." "That's... actually not bad." "Plus whatever else these suburban parents bought. You know how they compete." "Fine. But I'm not wearing a costume." "You'll wear the dinosaur suit and like it. We need to blend in." "I hate you." "Save it for after we fence the Pokemon cards." "They have Pokemon cards?" "Bill, they have everything."