Molly lowered the binoculars, a grim set to her jaw. “There it is, Bill. Fortress Birthday.” “Do you think they have those little sausages?” “What?” “You know, the ones in the blanket. Pigs in a blanket. Top-tier party food.” Molly let the binoculars fall against her chest. “We are not here for canapés. We are here for the haul. Synchronize watches.” Bill held up a wrist adorned with a bright blue digital watch. “It’s quarter to unicorn.” “It’s two forty-five, Bill. The clown arrives at three. That’s our window. Now, go over the plan.” “Right. The bouncy castle.” “And?” “We… bounce our way to the presents?” “No,” Molly sighed, the sound long and painful. “The inflation tube. It runs from the generator right past the doggy door. It’s our cover. You slide in, I keep lookout.” “What if the dog is still in there?” “The dog’s name is Princess Fluffybutt. I think you can handle her.” “That’s what they said about The Chihuahua of Grenoble.” “Just focus. The present pile is by the French doors. We’re talking a mountain of potential. Tarquin is turning six. His parents are hedge fund managers. There will be no socks.” “What if there are socks?” Bill asked, his voice a worried whisper. “Really nice ones? With, like, cashmere?” “There will be no socks! Now, the distraction. What’s the distraction?” “The clown,” Bill said confidently. “What kind of clown?” “Does it matter?” “Molly, it always matters. A sad clown? Unpredictable. Might go off-script. A juggler? Too much kinetic energy, things get knocked over. A mime?” He shuddered. “A mime is a silent alarm.” “It’s a balloon animal artist named Mr. Puffles. He’s booked for thirty minutes. You go in the moment he makes the first squeaky dachshund. You grab the biggest boxes first. You’re the pack mule.” “I’m the pack mule,” Bill repeated, nodding slowly. “Got it. You create the diversion.” “No, Mr. Puffles is the diversion. I’m the eye in the sky.” “From the van?” “Yes, from the van.” “So you’re more of an eye in the van.” “Just get the presents, Bill.” “Okay, okay. The signal?” “The second verse of ‘Happy Birthday’.” “There’s a second verse?” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “For these people, there is. Now get ready. I see a unicycle.” “Oh no,” Bill groaned. “That’s advanced clowning. This just got complicated.”