Bill adjusted his monocle, which was actually a piece of a broken magnifying glass taped to his cheek. It’s a bold target, he said, pointing at a crayon-drawn map of the suburban backyard. Is it high risk? Absolutely. Is it high reward? Bill, it’s a seven-year-old’s birthday, Molly interrupted, sliding a pair of tactical knitting needles into her belt. The reward is Lego sets and maybe a motorized Barbie jeep. We are stealing from a child. Not just a child, Bill corrected, pacing the length of their hideout, which was a damp crawlspace under a dry cleaner. We are liberating goods from a tyrant named Timmy. I heard he doesn’t even share his juice boxes. My heart bleeds for the proletariat, Molly said, checking the battery on her illicitly modified bubble blower. How do we bypass the perimeter? The grandmother is the primary obstacle, Bill noted, tapping a grainy photo of an elderly woman holding a plate of brownies. She’s vigilant. She has a sense of smell like a bloodhound and a lethal grip on a spatula. How do we take her out? We don’t take her out, we distract her with talk of rising knitting wool prices, Molly suggested. While she’s distracted, I’ll slip through the bouncy castle. The bouncy castle is a death trap, Bill whispered, his eyes wide. One wrong hop and you’re trapped in a vinyl abyss. I’ve trained for this on my neighbor’s trampoline, Molly replied. What’s the status of the getaway vehicle? I’ve secured the tricycle with the oversized basket, Bill said proudly. It’s parked behind the hydrangea bushes. Is it fast? It’s aerodynamic if the wind is at my back and I don’t hit any rogue pebbles. Molly sighed, checking her watch. The cake cutting is at two. That’s our window. When the sugar rush hits, the parents will be distracted by the screaming. That’s when we move for the gift pile. What if there’s a clown? Bill asked, his voice trembling slightly. We discussed this, Bill. If there’s a clown, you use the pepper spray. But it’s a professional clown! Then use the professional pepper spray. Molly grabbed her gear and headed for the exit. Are you ready for the heist of the century? Bill straightened his stained vest and grabbed a bag of marbles. For the Legos, he declared. For the Barbie jeep, she corrected. They crawled out into the sunlight, squinting at the bright balloons of the enemy territory. Do you think they’ll have those little cocktail sausages? Bill asked. Focus, Bill, Molly hissed. We’re professional thieves, not snack enthusiasts. I can be two things, Molly. I can be two things.