Molly slammed the architectural schematics onto the sticky dashboard of the surveillance van. The layout was drawn in purple crayon on the back of a placemat from authorized personnel only, which in this case meant a diner called O’Malley’s. She tapped the red circle near the patio doors with a manicured nail. This is the extraction point, Molly said, her voice grave. The target is turning six. That means maximum chaos, sticky hands, and a sugar crash window of approximately twenty minutes. Bill squinted at the drawing, nervously adjusting his black turtleneck. He looked less like a cat burglar and more like a beat poet who had lost his bongos. Are we sure about the perimeter defense? Bill asked. I heard they hired Bubbles. Molly rubbed her temples, feeling the start of a tension headache. Bubbles is a clown, Bill. He makes balloon animals. He is not a perimeter defense. Unless you have a paralyzing fear of latex dachshunds, he is a non-factor. Bill shuddered and looked out the window at the suburban backyard adorned with streamers. You never know what they keep in those oversized pockets, he whispered. Focus. The grand prize is sitting on the gift table right next to the gluten-free cupcakes. It is the Mega-Mech Dino Fortress. Limited edition. It retails for three hundred bucks on the black market. Or eBay. I thought we were going for the goody bags? The goody bags are amateur hour, Bill. Plastic kazoos and temporary tattoos do not pay the rent. The Fortress is the payload. Now, look here. The bouncy castle is located at the north end. That is a tactical nightmare, Bill said, tapping the paper. The fluctuating air pressure. The screaming. If I lose my footing in there, I am done for. You aren’t going in the castle. You are the wheelman. You wait by the rhododendrons. I go in disguised as Aunt Sheila. Do we actually know an Aunt Sheila? No, but every family has one. I have a floral distinctive muumuu and a sun hat large enough to block a satellite signal. It is foolproof. I walk in, pinch the cheeks of the birthday boy, tell him he has grown so much, and swipe the Fortress while everyone is singing. That song is a great auditory diversion, Bill nodded appreciatively. Classic timing. But what about the piñata? What about it? It is a variable, Molly. If they crack that papier-mâché donkey open before you secure the package, we are talking about a candy riot. A stampede. You could be trampled by thirty kids high on red dye number forty. I have accounted for the piñata. I replaced the bat with a pool noodle. They will be swinging at that thing until sunset. You really are a genius, Molly. She leaned back, a smirk playing on her lips. The sheer brilliance of the heist was intoxicating, mixed with the smell of stale coffee in the van. Just remember the signal. If I make the sound of a dying crow, you start the engine. Wait, Bill said. A crow? In this neighborhood? That is suspicious. Why not a lawnmower sound? Because I cannot make a lawnmower sound with my mouth, Bill. Just start the van when you hear the bird. Got it. One last thing. What? If there is extra cake... specifically the corner piece with the roses... No cake, Bill. We take the toys, we leave the carbs. Now mask up. It is party time.