Molly squinted through the binoculars, the lenses smudged with what looked suspiciously like old mustard. Below them, in the manicured cul-de-sac, the Henderson house was thrumming with the chaotic energy of a six-year-old’s birthday party. A swarm of children buzzed around a garish red bouncy castle, their shrieks piercing the suburban calm. “Okay, Phase One: Infiltration,” she muttered, tapping a greasy finger on a crumpled floor plan of the house, downloaded from a real estate website. “The patio door lock is a joke, a child could pick it. In this case, I am that child.” Beside her, Bill lowered his own pair of binoculars, which he’d been using to watch a small boy face-plant into a bowl of jelly. “What about their security system? That little yappy one.” Molly didn’t look up from the plans. “The corgi? I’ve got a squeaky toy filled with bacon paste. He’s not security, Bill, he’s an accessory with a shedding problem.” Her finger traced a path from the patio, through the kitchen, and into the living room, where she’d circled a spot in thick red marker labeled ‘The Motherlode’. The present pile was a magnificent, glittering mountain of wrapping paper and bows, practically pulsating with untapped potential. Bill licked his lips, his gaze distant and dreamy. “I bet there’s a new Turbo-Fist Action Commando in there. The one with the grappling hook.” “Focus,” Molly snapped, lowering the binoculars to glare at him. “We are not keeping the merchandise. This is a fence job, pure and simple. We hit the pile, bag the goods, and we’re out before they even cut the cake.” “They have a bouncy castle,” Bill said wistfully. “I am aware of the bouncy castle, Bill. It is not part of the plan.” A sudden eruption of cheers drew their attention back to the garden. A man in a pointy blue hat and a silver robe had just emerged from the house, carrying a flimsy-looking wand. He stumbled slightly on the top step, his fake white beard slipping to reveal a chin dotted with shaving cream. Molly groaned, pressing the binoculars to her eyes so hard they left red rings. “What the hell is that? That wasn’t in the intel.” “Is that… Gandalf?” Bill whispered in awe. “It’s a party entertainer, you moron. Look at the glitter on his beard. This complicates things. He’s a wild card.” “He might have magic, Molly. We should be careful.” “The only magic he has,” she seethed, “is the ability to make twenty-dollar bills disappear from parents’ wallets. Now, the new plan: we go in during the ‘magic show’. All eyes will be on Sparkle-Beard.” She tossed two empty canvas sacks into Bill’s lap. They landed with a pathetic, empty thud. “Get the sacks ready. We move in five.” Bill nodded, his expression now serious and determined. He hefted a sack, his mind clearly on the mission. “Do you think we’ll have time for a slice of cake on the way out?” Molly’s right eye began to twitch uncontrollably.