"Check the perimeter again," Molly whispered, adjusting her binocular strap. "The perimeter is a plastic picket fence, Molly. I can step over it," Bill sighed. "Containment is key. Did you secure the intel on the target?" "It’s a seven-year-old’s birthday. The target is a pile of Lego sets and a remote-control jeep." "And the guardian?" "Mrs. Gable? She’s distracted by a failed Pinterest cake and three margaritas." "Excellent. Phase one: the bounce house distraction." "I am not going in the bounce house, Molly." "It’s the perfect tactical cover! While you cause a structural collapse, I slip into the sunroom." "I'm forty-two years old. If I start jumping, I’ll throw out my lumbar. Why can't we just use the smoke bomb?" "Because the smoke bomb is strawberry-scented, Bill! It’ll just attract more children." "True. What about the clown?" "He’s a subcontractor. He won’t talk if we give him twenty bucks and a juice box." "Okay, but if there’s a magician, I’m out. I hate the disappearing bird trick." "Focus, Bill! The cake happens in T-minus five minutes. Once they start singing, we move." "Fine. But I’m keeping the remote-control jeep." "Professionalism, Bill. Please."