Molly smacked a crayon-drawn map onto the dashboard. Outside, the shriek of sugared-up children and a pop song about sharks bled through the thin metal. The air smelled of cut grass and impending cake. She tapped a smudged square. “Okay. The Present Pile is here, guarded by what I’m calling ‘The Grandfather Contingent.’” Bill lowered his binoculars, his expression wistful. He watched a small child face-plant near the inflatable castle before recovering with impressive speed. “Molly, that bouncy castle is a majestic purple dragon.” “Irrelevant, Bill. A non-asset. Our primary target is the large one wrapped in spaceship paper.” “The Turbo-Bot 5000?” “The very same. My source says it has ‘kung-fu grip.’” “Your source is a four-year-old you bribed with a gummy worm.” “A reliable informant! Now, what’s the status of our diversion?” He patted a lumpy burlap sack at his feet. It cooed softly from within. “The pigeon flock is ready for deployment on your signal.” “Excellent,” Molly grinned, her eyes glinting with larcenous glee. "Nobody ever expects a tactical pigeon assault at a child’s birthday party." This was their biggest score yet.