The sultry afternoon heat inside the surveillance van was becoming oppressive, turning the vehicle into a slow cooker for two professional criminals. Bill adjusted the focus on his military-grade binoculars, squinting through the violently smeared lenses at the suburban fortress across the street. To the untrained eye of a pedestrian, it was merely 42 Maple Drive, currently hosting the chaotic festivities of Timmy Miller’s sixth birthday party. To Bill and Molly, it was the target of the quarter, a repository of untapped wealth wrapped in glossy paper featuring cartoon superheroes. Molly sat cross-legged on the rusted floor of the van, smoothing out a grease-stained blueprint of a bouncy castle she had downloaded from a rental website. She looked up at Bill with the intensity of a woman planning to rob the Louvre. What is the situation on the ground? she asked. Bill wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip before answering. The perimeter is compromised by streamers, he said. Visuals are chaotic. We have a hired clown at the north gate making balloon animals. I think he just made a sword, Molly. That is a weapon. Molly scoffed, drawing a red circle over the backyard entrance with a sharpie. Clowns are mercenaries, Bill. He is on a hourly rate and will not intervene unless his retainer is threatened. What about the primary objective? Bill shifted his gaze toward the patio where a mountain of gifts sat atop a folding table. The pile was impressive, a testament to the parents' desire to buy their child’s affection. The gift table is currently unguarded, Bill reported. But it is surrounded by a sugar-crazed mob of six-year-olds. They are high on buttercream frosting and completely unpredictable. If we go in hot, they might swarm. Molly tapped the blueprint aggressively. Use the distraction. I did not spend our entire operational budget on three dozen hamsters for nothing. When you release them near the punch bowl, chaos will ensue. I still feel weird about this, Bill muttered, lowering the binoculars to look at his partner. The jewelry store job was clean. Ethical, even. Diamonds are insured. But stealing a LEGO Death Star from a child? That feels like a karmic risk. Molly sighed, the sound sharp and dismissive in the cramped space. She grabbed her tactical mask, which was shaped like a friendly golden retriever, and shoved it into his hands. We are teaching Timmy a lesson about impermanence, Bill. Besides, I saw the dad carry in a limited edition gaming console. That is not for the kid. That is for the dad. We are liberating it. Now, put on the mask. Bill reluctantly pulled the rubber mask over his head. The smell of latex filled his nose as he checked his canvas sacks. On your mark, he mumbled through the snout. They burst from the rear of the van, moving with the silent grace of predators stalking a herd of gazelles, ready to ruin a birthday in the name of profit.