We hit the perimeter at fourteen-hundred hours, Molly whispered, slamming her hand onto the laminate table. Nap time. We’re robbing toddlers? Bill hissed. Again? Not just toddlers. The Johnson twins. High-value targets. Rumor has it Grandma flew in from Boca with the good stuff. Electronic arts. Hard cash. What’s the opposition look like? Heavy. A hired magician and at least three helicopter moms patrolling the snack table. The magician worries me. Sleight of hand. He’s a hack, Bill. I saw him pull a dead pigeon out of a hat last Tuesday. We go in through the petting zoo. The petting zoo? It’s a biological minefield. Goats are easily bribed. You verify the loot pile behind the bouncy castle, I neutralize the piñata. I’m not smashing a papier-mâché donkey, Molly. It feels personal. It’s a unicorn, and it’s filled with premium imported chocolates. Do you want the cut or not? Fine. But if the clown tries to make me a balloon sword, I’m aborting the mission immediately. Just stick to the plan. When they start singing Happy Birthday, that’s our cover noise. We grab the mountain of wrapping paper and vanish before the first slice of cake is cut. I hope you rented a bigger getaway vehicle this time. I got a tricycle with a red wagon attached. Stay low.