Molly adjusted her binoculars and squinted at the suburban backyard where a bouncy castle sagged against the fence like a drunk pink elephant in the afternoon heat. Parents circled a cooler of wine while toddlers screamed in harmonic convergence. She let the binoculars drop to her chest with a resigned sigh. "You sure about this, Bill? The take is probably just gift cards and LEGO." Bill unrolled a grease-stained blueprint across the dashboard, pinning the corners with a half-eaten taco. He traced a route with his finger, leaving a salsa trail across the paper. His eyes burned with the intensity of a man who had never accepted that he was thirty-four. "Trust me, I cased the joint yesterday. Kid's dad is a crypto bro. Those aren't just presents; they're unopened PS5s and probably NFTs printed on chocolate bars." "NFTs aren't physical, Bill." "Not with that attitude, okay? Look, we go in during the piñata swing. Total chaos. Parents distracted, sugar-crazed children everywhere. We grab the gift table and exfil through the side gate near the hydrangeas." Molly watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple and disappear into his counterfeit Santa beard. She wondered if prison food was really as bad as television suggested, or if it merely tasted like shame and existential dread. The answer felt irrelevant compared to the immediate horror of their wardrobe selections. "Exfil? We're stealing from a six-year-old, not the Louvre." "Complacency kills, Molly. Disguises." "I'm not wearing that." "Fine, you can be the magician. But I'm warning you, the dad hired a security clown. Real muscle. Probably ex-Mossad with a seltzer bottle." "That's just entertainment, Bill. It's just a guy named Steve wearing oversized pants." "That's what they want you to think. Okay, phase one: I distract the target with balloon animals while you 'accidentally' lock the parents in the bouncy castle." "How exactly do you lock a bouncy castle?" Bill reached into his duffel bag and produced two rainbow wigs that smelled of gasoline. He shook them like dead rodents, sending glitter cascading through the stagnant air to create an aura of pure menace. "Zip ties. Classic move. Then we hit the main prize. The big present." "It's a bicycle, Bill. A pink one. We can't fence a pink Huffy with training wheels and a basket. My reputation can't handle that." "We're not fencing it. We're living the dream. I never had a tenth birthday party, Molly. My parents forgot. This is restitution for little Billy." He dipped his fingers into white face paint and began dabbing his nose with the concentration of a Renaissance master. He checked the rearview mirror carefully, adjusting the bulbous red nose until it achieved maximum absurdity. The effect was less "party entertainment" and more "existential nightmare." Molly sighed, resigning herself to moral bankruptcy, and placed the top hat on her head at a jaunty angle that spoke of pure showmanship. The felt smelled like old cigars. She adjusted the plastic wand in her belt loop while Bill checked his watch and gave her a gloved thumbs up. "You're deeply unwell." "And you're wearing tap shoes. For stealth?" "For distraction. When you run, it's musical. Very disorienting for pursuers. Okay, the clown—excuse me, the asset—goes on in five. Ready to ruin some childhoods?" "I want hazard pay. And ice cream cake." "Deal. But we eat it in the van. No crumbs in the getaway vehicle." "Noted."