Check your six, Molly hissed, flattening herself against the rhododendrons. My six is fine, Bill said, picking a dry leaf out of his ear. It is my twelve I am worried about. There are nearly thirty witnesses in there. They aren't witnesses, Bill. They are dependents. Unreliable narrators. If the cops ask them what a tall man looks like, they will point at a giraffe. I do not want to go to jail for stealing a Starter Set of Legos, Bill groaned, shifting his weight on the mulch. It is not just Legos. I have Intel that suggests there is a high-end tablet in the silver box. And look at the size of that rectangular one. That screams remote-controlled vehicle. Molly adjusted her tactical sunglasses, despite the fact that they were deep in the shade of a suburban hedge. What about the heavy? Bill asked, pointing a trembling finger toward the patio. The clown? Sparkles, Bill whispered with dread. He looks like he has done time. Look at the way he twists those balloons. That is pure aggression. Sparkles is a non-factor, Molly dismissed with a sharp wave of her hand. I have studied his pattern. He takes a smoke break behind the tool shed every forty-five minutes. That is our window. The parents are drinking wine, Bill noted. They look alert. They look Pinot Grigio alert. That is very different from adrenaline alert. Their reaction times are compromised. Bill sighed, peering through the fence slats at the mountain of brightly colored boxes stacked on a picnic table. Review the entry strategy one more time. Okay, Molly said, her voice dropping to a professional growl. Phase one: Initiation. The dad is going to light the candles. When everyone starts singing, the audio cover will be at maximum decibels. That is when we breach. Breach the gate? No, the gate squeaks. We go over the hedge. I have sciatica, Molly. Work through the pain, Bill. We hit the gift table. You take the big boxes; I take the envelopes. Cash is king in the kindergarten demographic. And the extraction? We utilize the bounce house as a pivot point. Bill stared at her. You want us to jump into the bouncy castle? It creates kinetic energy, Molly explained, sketching a diagram in the dirt with a twig. One good bounce and we vault the rear fence into the alley. Clean. Surgical. And what if there are kids in the castle? Collision is inevitable, Molly said stoically. Think of them as soft obstacles. Like marshmallows with elbows. I feel like a monster. You are a phantom, Bill. A whisper in the wind. Besides, look at that kid. The birthday boy. Bill looked. The child was currently screaming because his slice of cake had slightly less blue frosting than his neighbor's. He is a tyrant, Molly said. We are doing society a favor. We are redistribution specialists. He is pretty loud, Bill conceded. Exactly. Now, mask up. The song is starting. I do not have a mask. Use your sock, Bill. Improvise. I am not putting a gym sock on my face. Do you want the remote-controlled truck or not? Happy Birthday to you, the crowd began to chant inside the yard. Molly slapped Bill on the shoulder. Go! Go! Go!