Molly slapped the crayon-drawn schematic onto the dashboard of the rusty Econoline van. The paper crinkled under her leather gloved hand. We go in at fourteen-hundred hours, she said, her voice grave. The sugar crash will have set in. Defense perimeters will be weak. Bill stared at the drawing. Is that a dinosaur? It’s the family dog, Molly snapped. A Golden Retriever named Buster. Highly compromised. He’ll trade loyalty for a single slice of pepperoni. Did you bring the asset? Bill held up a greasy Ziploc bag. I have the pepperoni. But Molly, seriously? It’s a backyard. It is a fortress, Bill! Look at the layout. The bouncy castle blocks the east extraction point. The piñata creates a vertical hazard. And the clown… He hired a clown, Bill. That’s a freelancer. Unpredictable. Bill looked out the tinted window at the jubilant suburban lawn. The clown is making balloon animals, Mol. I think he’s making a poodle. It’s a distraction technique. While the targets are mesmerized by latex twisting, we move on the payload. The payload, Bill repeated, rubbing his eyes. You mean the pile of boxes wrapped in blue paper? Precisely. Intel suggests a high concentration of Lego sets and at least one remote-controlled car. The batteries are not included, which works in our favor. Lighter carry weight. I feel like we’re overthinking this, Bill said. We could just walk up and say we’re the magician’s assistants. Negative. Too high profile. We stick to the plan. Phase one: You breach the side gate near the hedge. Low crawl behind the inflatable slide. IN the mud? I’m wearing my good heist pants. Sacrifices must be made! Molly hissed. Once you reach the gift table, you initiate the swap. Right. The swap. Bill reached into the back of the van and patted a stack of boxes. Which contains used phone books and rocks. To match the weight distribution, Molly said. I need you to be precise. If little Timmy picks up a box and it feels light, the alarm is raised. The crying starts. The parents swarm. Game over. And what are you doing while I’m crawling through mulch? I’m on overwatch. I’ve secured a vantage point in the neighbor’s oak tree. If the Grill Master—that’s the father—looks up from his burgers, I employ the signal. The bird call? The screech of a hawk, yes. Molly, you sound like a dying cat when you do that. It is an intimidating sound! It triggers a primal fear response in suburban fathers. It will buy you three seconds to clear the fence. Bill sighed, looking back at the party. There’s a lot of juice boxes down there. Sticky terrain. Wear your rigger boots. And watch out for the toddler units. They are low to the ground and fast. If one spots you, do not engage. What if they ask what I’m doing? Tell them you’re the gift inspector. Toddlers respect bureaucracy. This is a new low, Molly. Even for us. We robbed a bingo hall last month. And we got away with eighteen dollars and a bag of hard candies. This heist has real value. That remote control car could fetch forty bucks on eBay. Minus the seller fees, Bill muttered. Focus! Are you ready? Bill pulled a ski mask over his face, then paused. Is this really necessary? It’s eighty degrees out. Identity protection is paramount. Now, on my mark. Three, two, one. Go. And Bill? Bill’s hand hovered over the door handle. What? Bring me a slice of cake. Chocolate or vanilla? Surprise me. Bill opened the door and rolled out into the shrubbery.