Molly tapped a blurry photo on her phone. “The target is six-year-old Timmy Anderson’s superhero-themed birthday party. Reconnaissance puts the present pile in the living room, by the fireplace.” Bill squinted. “He looks like he’s had three too many juice boxes. That’s our security detail? A hyped-up first-grader?” “Don’t underestimate him, Bill. He’s got a party blower and he’s not afraid to use it.” Molly zoomed in on a plate of cupcakes. “Our window of opportunity is when the magician starts his second act. Parents are distracted, captivated by a man pulling a gerbil out of his trouser pocket.” “The bouncy castle, Molly. It’s a giant, inflated witness right in the backyard. How do we get past that?” “That’s your job. You’re the diversion.” Bill sat up straight. “Diversion? I like the sound of that. Am I creating a power outage? Faking a medical emergency?” “You’re going to be a clown.” He stared at her. “A clown.” “Yes. I’ve got the costume in the back. Red nose, oversized shoes, the whole nine yards. You’ll go in and make balloon animals. A badly-made poodle will distract everyone long enough for me to bag the assets.” “Bag the… Molly, we’re stealing presents from a child. It’s a Lego Death Star and, according to my intel from the checkout line, a vaguely anatomical model of a horse. This isn’t exactly the Casino de Monte-Carlo.” “A score is a score, Bill. We get in, we get the goods, we exfiltrate. I’ll load the presents into the wheelie bin by the curb. You’ll create a commotion—a tragic balloon-popping incident—and meet me at the van.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “A tragic balloon-popping incident. And what if one of the parents asks me to twist a giraffe?” “Improvise, Bill. You’re a professional.” Molly grinned, a predator’s glint in her eye. “Just don’t accept any cake. We’re on the clock.”