The van, a rust-bucket named ‘The Stealthy Snail’, smelled of regret and old cheese puffs. Bill lowered his binoculars, a deep sigh fogging the cheap plastic lenses. Across the street, the party was a maelstrom of primary colors. A small child in a cape sobbed next to an overturned bowl of crisps while another chased the dog with a foam sword. "I still don't like this, Molly." "What's not to like?" she said, not looking away from her reflection in the cracked wing mirror. She was picking something green from her teeth. "It's the perfect score. Low risk, high reward." "The reward is a pile of LEGOs and a possible water pistol. The risk is being tackled by a man who eats dumbbells for breakfast." "They're *premium* LEGOs, Bill. The hundred-dollar Starship Enterprise set. And think of the security. Absolutely nil. What are they going to do? Drown us in their juice boxes?" "Timmy's dad looks like he could bench-press this van." Bill nudged her, pointing a greasy thumb towards a large man in a 'Grill Sergeant' apron flipping burgers with terrifying efficiency. "He'll be a non-issue. We have the ultimate camouflage," Molly said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She gestured grandly to the back seats where two costumes lay in a heap of synthetic fur. "Behold!" Bill stared at the fuzzy nightmare. "Is that supposed to be a badger?" "He's Bartholomew, the Bashful Badger! And I," she announced, puffing out her chest, "will be his best friend, Fiona the Friendly Fox. We're surprise entertainers." "I don't feel bashful. I feel flammable. And my snout is definitely crooked." He poked the sad, limp nose on the badger head. "It adds character. A world-weary badger. The kids will love it. Now, listen." She grabbed a crumpled napkin and a crayon. "The signal is the piñata. The moment they start whacking that airborne donkey, it's total chaos. A frenzy of sugar-fueled anarchy. We slip in through that side door, straight into the living room, grab the gift pile, and vanish." "Vanish where, exactly? Into the bouncy castle? It’s blocking the entire gate." "Details, details," she waved a dismissive hand, the crayon snapping in her fist. "We'll improvise. We'll bounce our way to freedom if we must." A momentous cheer erupted from the garden. A brightly colored papier-mâché donkey, looking strangely defiant, was being hoisted into a tree. "It's time," Molly whispered, her eyes gleaming with larcenous delight. She pulled a fox head over her own. The effect was less foxy, more deranged orange rodent. "Are you ready to make a little boy very sad?" "This feels like a new low," Bill mumbled, reluctantly picking up his own mask. The crooked snout stared back at him, a silent, furry accusation. "Even for us." "Nonsense! It’s practically a victimless crime. The kid will get more presents. Insurance, or something." "Do you even know what insurance is?" his voice echoed from inside the badger head. "It's like a magic money tree for people who've been burgled by woodland creatures, right?" came her muffled reply. "Now get your badger on. The candy is about to fly."