The inflatable castle hissed rhythmically in the backyard, its vinyl battlements swaying like a drunken giant. Bill adjusted his clown nose, which kept whistling every time he exhaled in frustration. He clutched a map of the living room drawn entirely in glitter glue and scented markers. Beside him, Molly was busy camouflaging her tactical vest with a layer of frilly pink tulle and several dozen butterfly stickers. She checked her watch, a plastic piece that flashed neon green whenever it hit the hour. The air smelled of sugar-induced hysteria and cheap fruit punch. They crouched behind a tall hedge of hydrangeas, watching a parade of toddlers stomp toward the gift table. This was the high-stakes world of suburban larceny, where the most dangerous security measures involved sticky fingers and Lego-strewn carpets. Bill checked his pockets to ensure he had enough bribe material to pacify any witnesses under the age of five. He looked at the mountain of brightly wrapped boxes, his eyes narrowing with a singular, criminal focus as he handed Molly a juice box for luck. We strike when the cake arrives. Molly nodded, tightening her sparkly headband. I hope there is a Lego set.