The air inside the battered van smelled of stale coffee and indecision, a heavy fog settling over the cramped space. Molly adjusted her sunglasses, peering through the crack in the curtains at the mansion across the street. To a passerby, it was a sanctuary of pastel siding and private security cameras. To Molly and Bill, it was the Chamber of Secrets, a pristine repository of small, expensive cardboard boxes containing the Holy Grail: limited-edition Legos and a mismatched set of permanent markers. "The perimeter is compromised," Bill announced, not looking up from the schematic he’d drawn on the back of a laminated flyer. "Top floor balcony. They have a service entrance?" "It's locked," Molly said, spinning a small set of lockpicks with a thumb that looked capable of opening a wine bottle, not padlocks. "But I managed to score a set of lockpicks from a distracted toddler at the park this morning. Top of the line." "Impressive," Bill grunted, blowing a stray hair from his forehead. "I’m still using the credit card skimmer we found in a Happy Meal." "This is a high-stakes operation, Bill. We need dignity. We are thieves, not paupers." "It’s hard to have dignity when you’re sneaking into a second-grade birthday party." "We are not sneaking," Molly corrected sharply, throwing the van into park. "We are executing a precision raid. The bouncer is the main variable. That inflatable gorilla is terrifying." "It’s foam and plastic," Bill reasoned, leaning back against the headrest. "Unless he’s possessed, we can take him." "He has eyes," Molly said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "And he follows you." "I know his name is Steve," Bill sighed. "Steve knows who we are." "Not yet." "We have to time it to the second," Molly continued, checking her watch with trembling fingers. "The clown’s finale is at 2:14 PM. That’s when the parents will be clustered around the cake, distracted by the free cake and their own poor parenting choices. That’s our window." "The cash box is at the gift table?" Bill asked, eyes widening. "The white one," Molly pointed out, pointing at a photograph she’d taken earlier. "The one wrapped in red paper. It screams for the taking." "And the loot?" "We bag the bulk of it. The rest we feed to the neighbors' cats." "Classic." Molly reached for the gear bag on the floor and swung it open. It clattered with the heavy thud of packaged explosives and Nerf darts. "Ready?" "As I’ll ever be," Bill said, reaching for the door handle. "I hope they have good cake." "We steal the cake too," Molly grinned, flashing a set of false teeth. "But the expensive kind." "Let's roll."