Bill, if you suggest the Trojan Horse again, I’m going to shove you into a bouncy castle and leave you there until the heat death of the universe. I’m just saying it’s a classic for a reason, Bill whispered, adjusting his night-vision goggles despite it being three in the afternoon. We get a giant papier-mâché pony. We hide inside. We wait for the cake, then we strike. It’s a six-year-old’s birthday, Bill. The pony will be three feet tall. Unless you’ve mastered the art of molecular compression, you aren’t fitting in a pony. Molly checked her watch, then squinted through the hedges at the suburban fortress before them. A banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEVIN fluttered mockingly in the breeze. What about the clown move? Bill asked. I put on the shoes, the nose, the whole bit. I make a balloon giraffe, distract the mother, and you bag the loot. You can’t make a balloon giraffe. Last time you tried, you popped three and made a toddler cry so hard he threw up on your boots. That was a technical error with the latex quality, Bill snapped. Focus. The haul is in the sunroom. Twelve Lego sets, three remote-controlled drones, and rumor has it, a limited-edition space station. We go in during the Pin the Tail on the Donkey. The donkey? That’s high-stakes, Molly. Everyone’s looking at the donkey. Exactly. They’re looking at the donkey, not the side door. I’ve got the distraction ready. Bill looked at her suspiciously. Is it the smoke bomb? Please tell me it’s not the smoke bomb. My lungs still hurt from the Bar Mitzvah job. It’s not a smoke bomb. It’s the bees. Bees? Molly, we’re thieves, not supervillains. Where did you even get bees at this hour? They’re mechanical, you idiot. Remote-controlled. They just buzz loudly and hover near the juice boxes. Chaos ensues, the parents panic about anaphylaxis, and we slide in through the laundry room. I don’t like it. It’s too loud. I prefer the silent approach. I could crawl through the vents. The vents are four inches wide, Bill. Are you a hamster? I have high flexibility! You have a hip replacement pending. Now, pull up the blueprints. Bill unfolded a napkin with a crayon drawing of a house. Is this a restaurant napkin? Molly asked. It’s a high-fidelity rendering. Look, here’s the pile of gifts. Here’s the snack table. If we time it right, I can grab a handful of pigs-in-a-blanket on the way out. No snacks! Professionalism, Bill! Do you want the space station or a soggy hot dog? Can’t I have both? It’s a long walk back to the van. Just put on the tactical diaper bag and get the honey-glaze spray ready. The honey-glaze? For the mechanical bees. It makes them more convincing. Molly, I really think the pony was a better idea. One more word about the pony and I’m letting the bees loose in the van. Fine. But if I get tackled by a guy named Gary wearing a 'World’s Best Dad' apron, I’m telling him this was all your idea. Move out, Bill. Kevin’s about to blow the candles. It’s showtime.