Molly tapped a manicured fingernail on the crinkled blueprint spread across the van’s dashboard. “Okay, look here. This is the layout.” Bill squinted, his focus glued to a crudely drawn shape in the backyard. “Is that a bouncy castle?” “Focus, Bill. The bouncy castle is irrelevant.” “It doesn’t look irrelevant. It looks exceptionally bouncy. An obstacle, for sure.” “The target,” she said, circling a spot in the living room with a red pen, “is here. The ‘Present Pile,’ as designated by my intel.” “Your ‘intel’ is a seven-year-old named Timmy who you bribed with a fudge pop.” “He was a reliable source. Now, at 1400 hours, the magician starts. That’s our window. The children will be mesmerized by cheap tricks and questionable animal handling.” “Ooh, a magician! Think he can pull a rabbit out of a hat?” “We are not staying to watch the magic, Bill. We are the distraction.” He looked at her with a profound sense of dread. “What does that even mean?” “It means you put on the suit.” “Not the suit. Molly, please. Anything but the suit.” The costume in question was slumped in the back of the van, a heap of matted faux-fur and quiet desperation. “The Giggle-Me-Gus the Gorilla suit is our only way in. No one questions a party gorilla.” “It smells like despair and old bananas. And the zipper gets stuck around the hindquarters. You know that.” “You’ll be a triumph. You go in, you juggle, you make some balloon animals.” “I don’t know how to juggle. The one time I tried, I broke your grandmother’s urn.” “Then just fall over a lot. Kids find that hysterical. While you’re causing a slapstick diversion, I slip in through the kitchen pantry.” “The kitchen?” His eyes lit up. “Will there be those tiny hot dogs on sticks?” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “No tiny hot dogs! Just presents. We grab the big ones first—LEGO sets, drones, anything that says ‘Requires Adult Assembly’—and we’re out before they even start singing ‘Happy Birthday’.” “But what if they have cake? I can’t do gorilla antics on an empty stomach. It’s bad for my character’s motivation.” “Your character is a sweaty man in a gorilla costume. His motivation is a paycheck, which you will not get if you eat the evidence.” “Seems harsh. I think Gus deserves a little slice of funfetti for his troubles.” She ignored him, pointing to her own sleek, black watch. “After the job, you can buy your own cake. Now, synchronize.” Bill held up his wrist, revealing a plastic watch with a cartoon dog on its face. “Mine stopped working last Tuesday.” She sighed, the sound of a thousand brilliant plans being ruined by one simple man. “Just get in the gorilla suit, Bill.” “Fine. But if I see a piñata, I’m going rogue. I’m telling you that right now.”