Molly tapped a hand-drawn map of a suburban backyard. “Okay, run the plan one more time. From the top.” “Right. I’m the Distraction,” Bill said, puffing out his chest. “I approach the target area—the bouncy castle—and initiate Operation: Funny Dance. This draws the primary security force, the children, away from the prize table.” “Good. Then you create a secondary diversion.” “Ah, yes. The ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ maneuver. Classic. While they’re all pointing and laughing, you, the Infiltrator, make your move.” “Correct. I grab the presents. All of them.” “Even the one for little Timmy? The one that looked like a rocket ship?” “Especially the one that looked like a rocket ship, Bill. We’re not sentimental.” “Right. Cold, hard, plastic. Got it. Then we rendezvous at the extraction point.” “The minivan two blocks down.” “The Swagger Wagon,” Bill corrected. “It’s a Chrysler Town & Country, Bill. It does not have ‘swagger’. We load the loot and we disappear.” “What about the cake? A heist isn’t a heist without a celebratory cake.” Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The objective is presents, not pastries. We are not stealing cake from a seven-year-old’s birthday party.” “But it was a dinosaur. A volcano cake with a lava frosting explosion.” “Focus! We’re in, we’re out. Thirty seconds, max. Any questions?” “Just one. What’s the code word? For when I’ve successfully initiated Operation: Funny Dance?” Molly stared at him, her expression flat. “The code word is… ‘Boogers.’” “Boogers?” Bill frowned. “Isn’t that a bit unprofessional?” “Fine,” Molly snapped. “The code word is ‘Pterodactyl.’ Happy?” “Very,” Bill beamed. “Pterodactyl. I like it. It’s got a real sense of occasion.”