Molly pressed her binoculars against the minivan window, watching a stream of parents carrying wrapped boxes through the front door of 47 Maple Street. She whistled low. "That's the third kid hauling in a gift bag bigger than himself," she said. "We're looking at a serious payload here, Bill." Bill adjusted his fake mustache in the rearview mirror and frowned. "Remind me again why we're robbing children." "We're not robbing children. We're robbing a house that happens to contain children. There's a moral distinction." "Is there, though?" "Absolutely not, but it makes me feel better." Molly pulled out a hand-drawn blueprint of the property, which she had sketched on a napkin from Denny's. "The presents are in the living room. We enter through the back sliding door during the piñata window." "The piñata window?" "Every kid at that party will be in the backyard swinging a bat at a papier-mâché unicorn. That gives us roughly four minutes of total chaos to work with." Bill studied the napkin blueprint, turning it sideways. "This looks like a duck." "That's the kitchen island." "And that?" "Also the kitchen island. I'm not an architect, Bill. I'm a criminal."