Molly slapped the architectural schematics onto the dashboard of the rusted cargo van. The blueprint was actually a crayon drawing she had bribed a neighbor kid to create, but the layout of the Miller residence was accurate enough. She clicked her stopwatch with the intensity of a bomb disposal expert. Synchronize watches, Molly commanded, staring through binoculars at the two-story colonial house across the street. The bouncy castle creates a visual blind spot for the patio door. That is our insertion point. Bill fumbled with his wrist, pulling his black tactical sleeve back to reveal a plastic digital watch featuring a cartoon sponge. My battery died three weeks ago, Molly. Can't we just look at the sun? Or listen for the screaming? Amateurs use the sun, Bill. Professionals use precision timing. We have exactly four minutes while the parents are sedated by the carbohydrate intake of the pizza course. That gift table is unguarded. I'm worried about the extraction, Bill said, nervously chewing on a stale licorice whip. There are twenty-five highly energized hostiles in that yard. If they swarm us, we don't stand a chance. Have you ever been bitten by a toddler? It is like getting clamped by a tiny, sticky shark. Fear is a luxury we cannot afford. I have neutralized the threat. How? Did you tranquilize the juice boxes? Better. I switched the party playlist. In two minutes, it transitions from high-tempo pop to a slow, hypnotic ambient whale sound compilation. By the time we hit the perimeter, the energy levels will crash. Now, what is the primary objective? Bill sighed, wiping his palms on his pants. The limited edition Robo-Dino with the kung-fu grip. And the envelopes from Aunt Deborah. She is known to write heavy checks. Correct. And avoid the wrapping paper. It is loud. Crinkling is the enemy of stealth. If you step on a bow, you might as well ring a doorbell. Molly pulled a pair of sheer pantyhose over her head. Her features mashed into a distorted, beige smear. Bill just stared at her, blinking slowly. Is that necessary? It is a superhero-themed party. You could just wear a domino mask and fit right in. Tradition, Bill. Respect the craft. Now, did you check the gear? Bill opened his duffel bag. I have the distraction devices. He held up a handful of glow sticks and a large bag of Pop Rocks. And the grappling hook. Why did you bring a grappling hook for a one-story patio? You never know. Maybe I need to make a dramatic exit over the fence. It adds production value. Just use the gate. It is unlocked. The latch is broken. Fine. But I am keeping the cape. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Do you have the getaway vehicle prepped? The Radio Flyer wagon is lubed and ready. No squeaky wheels. It can hold at least fifty pounds of plastic loot. Molly nodded, checking the side mirror. A man with a red nose and oversized shoes walked up the driveway. Asset is on site. The clown is the signal. Once he starts making balloon swords, the aggression levels will spike among the guests, completely distracting the parents. That is our go. I feel bad about the cake, Bill whispered, looking wistfully at the house. I saw them carrying it in. It looked like double chocolate. Steal the cake too if you have room, Molly said, opening the van door. But focus on the presents. We retire after this, Bill. No more stealing candy from babies. We are moving up to the big leagues. Stealing video games from pre-teens. Living the dream, Mol, Bill muttered, pulling his cape tight. Living the dream.