Molly adjusted the binoculars, pressing them against the lenses of her sunglasses despite the overcast sky. She crouched behind the azalea bush, her breathing rhythmic and intense. beside her, Bill was trying to get a stain out of his black turtleneck. "Target acquired," Molly whispered. "The Johnson residence. Operation: Sugar Rush is active." Bill looked up, sighing heavily. "Are we really doing this, Mol?" "Focus, Bill. The intelligence suggests a haul estimated at four hundred dollars retail. We’re talking limited edition Lego sets. High resale value on the black market. Or Facebook Marketplace." "It's a six-year-old's birthday party." "It is an unsecured accumulation of liquid assets. Look at the perimeter. Weak." "There’s a bounce house in the driveway, Molly. It is hardly the Louvre. And I think that’s a heavily armed grandmother by the cooler." "Don't underestimate the security. That woman? Karen. H.O.A. president. Eyes like a radicalized hawk. She spots a recycling bin violation from fifty yards. You think she won’t notice two adults crawling through the hydrangeas?" Bill plucked a leaf off his shoulder. "We could just walk in. I have a nephew. We could say we're distantly related. Uncle Bill and Auntie Molly from Poughkeepsie." "Amateur hour. We need surgical precision. Phase one: Neutralize the entertainment." "The clown?" "Bozo. Look at him. Too happy. His eyes are shifting constantly. He’s definitely private security." "He’s making a dachshund out of rubber, Molly. He is trying not to hyperventilate because twelve children are hitting him with foam noodles." "Distraction technique. While everyone watches the dog, we breach the Gift Table. I’ve analyzed the wrapping paper patterns. The shiny silver ones with the holographic stars? Those are the heavy hitters. Electronics. Tablets. Maybe a drone." "I want a drone." "Stick to the plan. The boxes in the squishy bags with tissue paper? Clothes. Ignore them. We don't need toddler cardigans." Bill shifted his weight, his knees popping audibly. "What about the cake?" "What about it?" "Can we get a slice? I saw them carry it out. It’s ice cream cake. Cookie Puss." "Bill, we are professionals. We don't eat the evidence." "But it’s Cookie Puss, Mol. The nose is made of an ice cream cone. It’s my weakness." "Fine. Secure the package, then secure the dairy. But you have to move fast. Now, the extraction point is the side gate. Watch out for the asset denial unit." "The what?" "The Golden Retriever. Name: Buster. Threat level: Lick to death." "I have bacon in my pocket." Molly lowered the binoculars and stared at him. "Why do you have bacon in your tactical pants?" "I missed breakfast. I get nervous when I’m hungry." "Good. Use it as a bribe. Now, listen closely. At fourteen-hundred hours, they bring out the pinata. That is our window of chaos. When those kids swarm for the falling candy, the parents will be distracted filming it for social media. That is when we strike." "Right. The Pinata Protocol." "Exactly. You go left, flank the grandmothers. I go right, grab the big silver box. We rendezvous at the van. Three minutes, in and out." "What if the kid cries?" "Bill, stop humanizing the mark." "He's turning six. It’s a milestone." "He’ll learn a valuable life lesson about attachment, loss, and better home security. We’re not thieves, Bill. We’re educators." "We’re monsters." "We’re entrepreneurs. Now, put on your mask." Bill pulled the fabric over his face. "It’s a Spider-Man mask. I look like a guest." "Perfect camouflage. Let’s roll."