Molly slammed her hand onto the sticky laminate table, flattening the crinkled piece of construction paper. A red crayon circle dominated the center of the page. Focus, Bill. The target is secure, but the perimeter is porous. Bill squinted at the crudely drawn map, tilting his head to the side. Is that a dragon in the corner? he asked. It’s the family Golden Retriever, Buster. He’s a sleeper agent. One piece of ham and he’s neutralized. He won’t bark. And the red zone? The bouncy house. Total chaos. We avoid it at all costs. The kinetic energy inside that inflatable fortress is enough to knock a grown man unconscious. One collision with a sugar-fueled toddler and you’re down for the count. Bill nodded solemnly, scratching his graying stubble. What about the extraction team? You are the extraction team. I have a bad back, Molly. Lifting crates of diamonds is one thing. Lifting a pile of slippery, wrapping-papered boxes while dodging a mob of five-year-olds is another. We use the distraction technique. Phase One: The Pinata. I hate Phase One. Phase One is essential, Molly insisted, tapping the paper with a manicured fingernail. While the miniature hostiles are arming themselves with plastic bats to assault the papier-mâché donkey, the adults will be distracted recording it on their phones. That creates a blind spot near the gift table. Bill sighed, reaching for a glazed donut from the box between them. I feel like we’re underestimating the grandmother. She’s got eyes like a hawk. I saw her on the recon photos. She looks suspicious. Nana has a high-stakes Bridge game on her iPad. She’s checked out. The real threat is the hired entertainment. The magician? The balloon artist. He’s territorial. If he sees us encroaching on his turf, he might try to be a hero. He takes his craft seriously. Look, are you allergic to gluten? No, why? Good, because the fallback plan involves you eating the cake to create a medical emergency distraction. I’m not faking a seizure for a pile of Hot Wheels, Bill said, his mouth full of donut. It’s a limited edition monster truck set, Bill! Focus on the prize! And there are rumors of a tablet in the big silver box. Fine. But I’m not wearing the costume. You have to blend in. The party theme is superheroes. I’m a forty-year-old man with a beer belly. I don’t look like Captain America. I look like Captain Cholesterol. Then be the Hulk. You’re already angry. I’m not angry, I’m cautious. This feels like the Girl Scout Cookie Incident all over again. We agreed never to speak of the Thin Mints. This is different. This is low risk, high reward. And if we get caught? We claim we’re the entertainment. Doing what? Juggling stolen goods? Improv comedy. We’re hilarious. Bill looked at the construction paper map, then back at Molly. We’re going to jail. We’re going to Toys 'R' Us heaven. Now, synchronize your watch. The party starts at noon. We strike at twelve-thirty. I’ll bring the van around. No van. We escape on tricycles. Molly... They’re quiet! Silent running! Besides, the van looks creepy parked near a playground. We take the tricycles to the alley, transfer the goods to the sedan, and we are ghosts. Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. I hope they have goodie bags. Focus, Bill. Just focus.