Molly tapped a greasy finger on the blueprint spread across the van’s dashboard. It was less a blueprint and more a napkin sketch of a very large house, complete with a terrifyingly cheerful sun drawn in the corner. “Okay, look again, Bill. This is the entry point.” “The doggy door?” “It’s a pet portal,” Molly corrected, her voice tight. “The specs say it’s state-of-the-art. Big enough for a prize-winning wolfhound. Or a very flexible idiot.” Bill squinted at the napkin. “I don’t like the way you said that.” “Focus. The party theme is ‘Dino-Mite Adventure.’ The parents will be distracted by a five-year-old’s rendition of a T-Rex roar between 2:45 and 2:50. That’s our window.” She circled a room labeled 'Present Pile.' “You go in first, secure the perimeter.” “Secure the perimeter? Molly, it’s a living room. What am I securing it from, rogue toddlers?” “From Susan, the mother. She’s a pacer. I need you to create a diversion.” Bill crossed his thick arms. “What kind of diversion?” Molly reached into the back and produced a large, felt pterodactyl costume, complete with a flimsy beak and googly eyes. Bill stared. “Absolutely not.” “It’s perfect! You’ll be the ‘Escaped Exhibit.’ You flap around the garden, make some squawking noises. The kids will love it. The parents will be confused. And I slip in through the kitchen and bag the goods.” “I’m not squawking.” “It’s essential to the role, Bill.” “They’re not authentic pterodactyl noises.” “How would you know?” “I watched a documentary,” he said, looking deeply offended. “They had more of a guttural shriek. The squawk is pure Hollywood.” Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The sounds of distant, happy screaming drifted through the cracked window of the van. “Fine. Shriek. Can you shriek convincingly?” “Like a banshee who’s stubbed her toe.” “Good enough. While you’re performing your prehistoric aria, I’ll be grabbing the loot. We’re targeting anything that rattles, anything in blue wrapping paper, and especially the big one by the fireplace that looks like a remote-control monster truck.” “What if it’s an educational globe?” “Then some lucky kid is about to learn a harsh lesson about attachment,” Molly said flatly. “Any other questions?” Bill held the pterodactyl head, looking into its vacant, googly eyes. “Just one. Is the beak supposed to droop this much?” “It adds to the pathos of your escape,” Molly said, turning the ignition key. “Now, start practicing your shriek. We go in three minutes.”