Bill, if you suggest the Trojan Horse strategy one more time, I’m going to shove you into a giant piñata myself. But it’s classic, Molly. It’s elegant. It’s historical. I’m inside a six-foot papier-mâché donkey, they haul me into the living room, and then, boom, I emerge like a vengeful, candy-covered specter. You’re six-foot-two, Bill. You’d look less like a donkey and more like a llama with a spinal deformity. Plus, the guest list includes twenty caffeinated seven-year-olds with wooden sticks. You’d be beaten into a pulp before the cake is even cut. I have a high pain threshold for the right price. That Lego Millennium Falcon alone is worth ninety bucks on the secondary market. We are not getting assaulted by minors for ninety dollars. Look at the blueprints. This is a drawing of a bounce house on a napkin. It’s an aerial tactical map. The target is the gift table in the sunroom. Entry point is the dog flap in the kitchen. I told you, I don't fit through dog flaps since the incident in Brussels. My hips are too majestic. Then we go with the Catering Gambit. Put the mustache on. It’s itchy. Why do I have to be the waiter? I have a natural air of command. I should be the illusionist. I can do the thing where I pull a coin from behind an ear. You pulled a nickel from a security guard’s ear during the Louvre job and we almost spent ten years in a French prison. You are not a magician. You are a server of juice boxes. I hate juice boxes. They’re structurally unsound. One squeeze and you’re wearing fruit punch for the rest of the heist. Focus. While you’re distracting the mothers with a tray of organic kale puffs, I’ll be under the table. I’ve developed a specialized grappling hook made out of coat hangers and dental floss. To steal teddy bears? To steal the electronics, Bill! Little Timmy is turning eight. Eight-year-olds in this zip code get tablets. They get high-end drones. They get cold, hard plastic. What about the clown? What clown? The dossier says they hired Barnaby the Baffler. He’s a professional. He’ll spot a fake waiter in seconds. Clowns have a sixth sense for intruders. It’s the greasepaint. I’ll take out the clown. With what? A nap. I’ve laced a balloon animal kit with extra-strength sedatives. He goes for a poodle, he’s out for three hours. That’s cold, Molly. Even for us. This is the big leagues, Bill. There’s a bouncy castle, a chocolate fountain, and forty-five boxes of unopened loot. We go in at two, we’re out by cake. And if the birthday boy sees us? We tell him we’re the Federal Bureau of Birthday Inspections. Now, put on the apron. We have a heist to pull.