"You have the blueprints?" asked Molly, slapping a sticky napkin onto the dashboard. "It’s a crayon drawing of a backyard," Bill sighed. "It’s intel!" Molly snapped. "The target is the picnic table. Heavily fortified." "By balloons?" "By streamers, Bill. Tripwires. The guards are hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup and cake. They’re unpredictable. Vicious." Bill stared out the windshield at the suburban lawn. "They’re six." "They’re swift," she corrected, checking her watch. "Now, at thirteen-hundred hours, the clown starts making balloon animals. That’s the distraction." "I thought the distraction was the pinata?" "Variables change! When the clown creates the dachshund, you flank the gift pile." "And grab... the squirt guns?" "The Limited Edition Mega-Soakers. Think of the black market value." "I feel bad stealing from Timmy." "Timmy doesn't appreciate hydraulic pressure systems. We do. You get the goods; I drive the getaway scooter." "We’re taking a scooter?" "It weaves through traffic. And it fits in the alley behind Chuck E. Cheese." Bill groaned. "What about the K-9 unit?" "The pug?" Molly narrowed her eyes. "Bring the snausages. If he barks, neutralise him with belly rubs. Do not engage the parents. They have wine. Karen’s Chardonnay vision is sharper than a hawk’s." "And the loot bag?" "Use the burlap sack. It blends in with the potato sack race." "This is a new low, Molly." "This is a retirement plan, Bill. Now put on your party hat. We need to blend."