Bill smoothed the crayon-drawn blueprints against the sticky diner table, his face a mask of grim determination. He slammed a grease-stained finger onto the crudely sketched bouncy castle. "The perimeter is fortified," Bill muttered, narrowing his eyes. Molly sighed, stirring her lukewarm coffee while watching a fly navigate the sugar dispenser. She looked disdainfully at the layout of the suburban backyard. "It’s a five-year-old’s birthday, Bill. Not the Louvre." "That’s what the clown wants you to think." Bill leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper to avoid the waitress. "Bozo isn't just entertainment; he is the muscle. I’ve seen him work." Molly rubbed her aching temples, exhausted by the theatrics. "So, what is the plan?" "I infiltrate as 'The Great Williamo.' While I mesmerize the toddlers with sleight of hand, you flank the gift table." "To steal what? A plush pony?" "Legos," Bill hissed, his eyes widening with greed. "The resale value is astronomical. We grab the big boxes and extract before the sugar crash." "And if the parents intercept?" Bill reached into his trench coat, revealing a cardboard tube. "We deploy the flashbangs." Molly stared at the object. "You mean the glitter bombs?" "Total disorientation," Bill confirmed. "They’ll be vacuuming for weeks."