The map was sprawled across the grease-stained table of the Tip-Top Diner, though to the untrained eye, it looked suspiciously like a placemat featuring a maze for toddlers. Molly circled a drawing of a bouncy castle with a red felt-tip marker, her eyes narrowed with the intensity of a diamond cutter. I’m telling you, the bouncy castle is tactical high ground, Bill. If we secure the perimeter of the inflatable dragon, we control the flow of the entire patio. Bill leaned back, nursing a lukewarm coffee. His face looked like a catcher’s mitt that had been through a car wash. It’s a five-year-old’s birthday party, Molly. We aren't storming the beaches of Normandy. We’re swiping Lego sets and a miniature electric Jeep. Perspective, Bill, Molly hissed, leaning in so close she nearly dipped her ponytail into his fried eggs. This is the Jenkins estate. We aren’t talking about generic building blocks. We’re talking about limited edition sets with resale values that would make a Swiss banker weep. The Jeep has leather seats. Actual leather seats. How are we even getting through the gate? The security is a kid named Tyler who wears a vest with too many pockets. He’s an amateur. I’ve already secured the Trojan horse. Molly reached into her oversized duffel bag and pulled out a matted, neon-pink fur suit. Bill stared at the googly eyes of the costume, which seemed to be judging his life choices. You want me to go in as Sparkles the Dysfunctional Unicorn? You’re the only one who fits the height requirements for the rental, Bill. Also, unicorns are statistically less likely to be tackled by overzealous suburban dads. While you’re distracting the herd with balloon animals—which you’ve been practicing, right? I made a dog this morning, Bill grumbled, staring at the ceiling. It looked like a cluster of grapes with a tail, but the neighbor’s kid didn't cry, so I’m counting it as a win. Good enough. While you’re being mobbed for latex poodles, I’ll be in the sunroom. The gift table is situated right under the central chandelier. I’ve got a modified leaf blower and a series of industrial-strength magnets. A leaf blower? Isn’t that a bit loud for a stealth operation? Not if I time the suction bursts with the singing of Happy Birthday. It’s the perfect sonic camouflage. We have a forty-second window between 'Long to reign over us' and the blowing out of the candles. Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. We’re really doing this. We’re really going to be the people who ruin little Timmy’s big day for a high-end toy car and some plastic bricks. His name is Arthur, and he has a private tutor for Mandarin. He’ll be fine, Bill. He’s got equity. We’ve got a van with a sliding door that doesn't close all the way and a dream. Fine. But if I get kicked in the shins by a sugar-crashing toddler, I’m taking the Jeep for myself. Deal. Now, put on the horn. We need to see if you can see out of the nostrils.