Molly jabbed a greasy fork at the napkin spread across their peeling booth table. The surface was a chaotic blueprint of a child’s birthday party, complete with a terrifyingly large sun drawn in ketchup. Bill leaned in, the gurgle of his milkshake the operation’s only soundtrack. “Okay, the bouncy castle is here,” she stated. “It’s our visual obstruction and primary exit.” Bill squinted, tracing a dotted line with his finger. “And this?” “That’s the Splash Zone. High-powered sprinkler. Galoshes required.” “Galoshes. Got it.” He nodded gravely. “So the score is piled on the patio?” “Presents, Bill. They’re called presents.” Her patience was wearing visibly thin. “The parents are the main obstacle until three.” “What happens at three?” “The magician. His finale uses flash paper. That’s our diversion.” A slow grin spread across Bill’s face. “Using a children’s entertainer as an unwitting accomplice. Diabolical.” “He works for cake.” Molly’s fork hovered over a furious scribble. “Security is one agent: a teacup poodle named Fifi.” Bill paled. “Not Fifi. Her bark is pure psychological warfare.” “Don’t worry,” Molly said flatly, a glint in her eye. “I have a squeaky steak.”