The perimeter is guarded by a Golden Retriever named Buster. Is he hostile? He’s a good boy, Bill. That’s the problem. He demands belly rubs. It’s a tactical time sink. I’ll bring the sausages. Good. Now, the extraction point is behind the bouncy castle. That’s highly exposed, Molly. What about the surveillance? Uncle Jerry has a camcorder, but he hasn't taken the lens cap off since nineteen-ninety-eight. We’re clear. Bill squinted at the crayon-drawn map. And the target? The gift table. Little Timmy turns seven today. We’re talking high-value electronics and limited-edition action figures. What’s the timeline? We strike during musical chairs. Why then? The tension is high. Desperation. Crying. It covers the sound of us loading the duffel bags. What’s my cover? You’re the bubble artist. I thought we agreed I’d be the DJ. You don't know the playlist, Bill. You’ll drop a slow jam and start a riot. Just blow bubbles and look whimsical. And if I make contact with a sticky toddler? Abort immediately. We don't have the budget for dry cleaning. And the loot splits? Fifty-fifty on the toys. I keep the juice boxes. Throw in a slice of cake. If it’s a corner piece, it’s yours. Let’s rob this kindergarten.