Molly slapped the architectural blueprints against the dashboard of their rusted van. It was actually a crayon drawing on construction paper, stained with grape juice. "The perimeter is heavily fortified," Molly said, tracing a line of festive bunting with a black-gloved finger. "We have hostiles everywhere. Tweaked out on high-fructose corn syrup." Bill squinted through his tactical binoculars at the manicured suburban lawn. "What’s the payload again?" "Lego sets, Bill. The big boxes. Star Wars. High street value." "Dangerous game," Bill muttered, nervously unwrapping a fruit roll-up. "What about the heavy muscle?" "Sparkles the Clown takes five at fourteen-hundred hours. That’s our window. But watch the mother. She’s got eyes like a hawk and a tactical juice box holster." "And the booby trap?" "The piñata," Molly whispered gravely. "If that donkey breaches before we make entry, it’s a stampede. We’ll be trampled under fifty pairs of light-up Velcro sneakers." Bill shivered audibly. "I barely survived the Chuck E. Cheese job." "Pull it together," she snapped. "We breach the bouncy castle, neutralise the gift table, and extract via the slip-n-slide." "What if the cake comes out early?" "Then may God help us all."