"Check the perimeter again," Bill whispered, adjusting his overly tight suspenders. "It’s a bouncy castle, Bill, not Fort Knox," Molly snapped, peering through her mismatched binoculars. "The perimeter is guarded by a golden retriever with a bum leg and a teenager named Chad who is currently eating his own weight in gummy worms." "Chad is a wild card. Look at the way he chews. No discipline. No rhythm. He’s a loose cannon, Molly." "He’s sixteen. He’s bored. Now, did you secure the tactical diversion?" Bill reached into his tactical vest—which was actually a fishing vest he’d spray-painted charcoal grey—and pulled out a small, crinkled paper bag. "Sugar-free juice boxes. The ultimate weapon of mass disappointment. Once the sugar-high kicks in, I swap the real juice for these. The crash will be instantaneous. The toddlers will descend into a state of lethargic despair, giving us a three-minute window to exfiltrate the primary haul." "Three minutes? We’re stealing a mountain of Lego and a remote-control Jeep, not the Hope Diamond. I need five, minimum. That Jeep is heavy, and I have bad knees." "You wouldn't have bad knees if you practiced your tactical rolls like I told you." "I am not rolling across a suburban lawn in broad daylight, Bill. I have a reputation." "You’re a toy thief, Molly. Your reputation is 'the lady who smells like stolen Play-Doh.' Now, status report on the target." Molly sighed and checked her watch. "The cake is being served. The birthday boy, a tiny tyrant named Tyler, is currently distracted by a sparkler. The gift table is unguarded. It’s located between the gluten-free cupcake stand and a very confused-looking clown." "The clown is a problem," Bill muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Look at his shoes. Oversized. Efficient for hiding weaponry or extra balloons. He’s definitely deep-cover. Probably Interpol." "He’s a freelance performer from a temp agency, you paranoid loon. He tripped over his own feet twice during the balloon animal segment." "A classic misdirection technique," Bill insisted. "I’ll handle the clown. You go for the Jeep. If the mother spots you, what’s the protocol?" "I tell her I’m the 'Safety and Retention Specialist' hired to audit the structural integrity of the gift pile." "And if she doesn't buy it?" "Then I cry," Molly said flatly. "Nobody fights a middle-aged woman crying at a six-year-old's birthday. It’s too awkward. They just hand you a napkin and look away." "Brilliant. Ruthless. I love it." Bill pulled a pair of neon green dishwashing gloves over his hands. "Synchronize watches." "We don't have watches that synchronize, Bill. Mine is a Fitbit and yours is a sundial you drew on your wrist with a Sharpie." "Details! On my mark. Three... two... one... go for the Legos!" "Wait! The dog's looking this way!" "Abort! Abort! Deploy the squeaky toy!"