Molly slid into the booth across from Bill, who was hunched over a notebook filled with crayon drawings. "Tell me you're not serious about this," Molly said. "Dead serious. Look at this intel." Bill spun the notebook around. "Birthday party for Timmy Henderson, age seven. Guest list of twenty-five kids. That's minimum twenty-five presents, probably more because divorced parents means double gifts." "We're professional thieves, Bill. We robbed the Metropolitan Museum last month." "And got away with nothing because that diamond was fake." "Still. This is beneath us." "Is it? Listen to this guest list. The Worthington twins. The Ashford-Pemberton boy. Old money kids, Molly. These aren't getting drugstore toys. We're talking top-shelf electronics, designer clothes, maybe even junior Rolexes." "Junior Rolexes aren't a thing." "They absolutely are. Rich people are insane. Besides, I already cased the joint. The Henderson house has a bounce castle delivery at two, party starts at three. Perfect entry opportunity." "Through a bounce castle?" "Think about it. We dress as entertainment staff, walk right in. I'll be a clown—" "Absolutely not." "Fine, balloon artists then. Point is, we're hiding in plain sight. Parents drop their kids and leave. That's our window. Fifteen minutes to load the presents while the kids are doing cake." "What if they do presents first?" "They won't. Mrs. Henderson posted the whole schedule on Facebook. Cake at four-fifteen, presents at four-thirty. Her exact words were 'making sure little Timmy gets to open gifts before anyone gets picked up early.'" "You friended Timmy's mom on Facebook?" "She accepted immediately. Probably thought I was someone's dad." Molly rubbed her temples. "Even if this works, which it won't, what's our fence going to say when we show up with a bunch of toys?" "Already talked to Nikolai. He's got connections in the secondary market. Unopened toys sell great online, especially limited editions. And get this—Timmy's really into some Japanese robot thing. Gundam something. Those kits go for hundreds." "We're really doing this?" "Unless you've got a better score lined up." "Actually, I do. The Pemberton estate has a—" "No. I'm done with your high-concept heists. Remember the yacht? The ski lodge? That thing with the penguins? Simple is better. In and out, no complications." "It's a children's party, Bill. You know what children do? They scream. They cry. They vomit unexpectedly." "That's why we're balloon artists. We stay outside, away from the chaos." "What happens when some kid wants a balloon?" "We make them a balloon. I've been practicing." Bill pulled a long balloon from his jacket. "Watch this." He twisted it twice. It popped. "See? Natural talent." "We're going to jail." "We're not going to jail. Worst case, we get chased off by suburban parents. I can outrun people who do yoga three times a week." "Fine. But I'm picking our costumes." "Deal. But no sparkles." "Balloon artists need sparkles, Bill. It's called authenticity."