Molly squinted at the blueprints, which were actually a crayon drawing of a bouncy castle with accompanying arrows pointing to the ‘cake’ and ‘presents’. Bill meticulously cleaned his spork, a crucial tool. The children’s party, a chaotic celebration of tiny humans and sugar, was their next target. “Right, so the kid distracts the adults,” Molly said, circling a particularly aggressive looking stick figure on the drawing. “Preferably with a minor, non-fatal tantrum.” “I’m thinking a full-blown meltdown over a broken balloon,” Bill mused, testing the sharpness of the spork. “Classic, effective.” “While that’s happening, you’re in the present pile.” “The golden horde,” Bill corrected, a glint in his eye. “And I’m out before anyone even suspects little Timmy’s meltdown is a diversion.” “Exactly. No collateral damage, just a clean take.” Molly tapped the drawing. “Except for the clown. He might be a problem.” Bill snorted. “A clown? Please. I’ve neutralised bigger threats with a well-placed tripping hazard and a strategically flung piece of cake.” He polished the spork once more, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Let’s get those presents.”