Molly had the blueprints for the suburban two-story spread across the van’s dashboard. "Okay. Operation Sugar Rush is a go." Bill stared at the fuzzy, grey head with enormous, vacant eyes sitting between them. "I still don't understand why it has to be a badger." "It's about psychology, Bill. No one expects a melancholy badger. A clown, a princess, a superhero? They’re anticipated. They’re part of the system. But a sad badger? That’s chaos." "It smells like old socks and regret in there." "That’s the smell of opportunity. Now, the timeline is tight. The magician, 'Magnifico Marvin,' starts his set at two o'clock. His grand finale is sawing a bouncy castle in half. That’s our window." "He's not actually going to saw it in half, is he?" "Of course not, he's a children's entertainer, not a monster. But the spectacle is what matters. While all eyes are on Marvin, you, as Barnaby the Badger, will make your move." "What's my move again? You said something about 'pensive looming'." "Precisely. You will position yourself near the present pile. You are not to engage. You are not to dance. If a child approaches, you simply offer a slow, sorrowful wave. You are the embodiment of woodland ennui." "So I'm a diversion?" "You're a piece of high-concept performance art, Bill. A furry, existential question mark planted right next to the target. While the parents are whispering, ‘Is that badger okay?’ and the kids are frozen in confused silence, I’m slipping in through the conservatory." "The conservatory has a clear line of sight to the present pile." "Which will be obscured by your formidable, furry backside. You're a badger-shaped blind spot. I grab the goods, you feign a sudden bout of narcolepsy, and we’re gone." "They're going to poke me with a stick if I fall asleep." "A calculated risk. Did you practice the walk?" Bill sighed. "The 'heavy-hearted shuffle'? Yes, Molly. For an hour. I think I pulled a muscle in my soul." "Good. Don't break character. Remember, Barnaby has seen things. The fleeting nature of a dewdrop on a leaf, the brutal finality of a fox’s hunt. Channel that." "I'm channeling the fact I won't be able to see a thing out of these tiny eyeholes." "Details, details. What do you do if someone offers you a slice of cake?" "You said I'm to refuse it with a single, mournful shake of the head." "And if it's the really good caterpillar cake with the chocolate buttons?" "...A slightly faster mournful shake of the head?" Molly patted the badger’s head. "Perfect. You were born for this role, Bill. Now, let’s get you zipped in. It's almost showtime."