The air inside the rusted van smelled of stale pretzels and nervous sweat. Bill checked his watch for the third time in sixty seconds, his brow furrowed behind the lenses of his oversized sunglasses. Outside, the suburban street was peaceful, save for the faint, rhythmic thumping of dubstep music drifting from a house decked out in enough balloons to launch a small satellite. Molly was pacing in the limited space, wearing a neon hula skirt over her tactical vest and clutching a medical stethoscope like a sword. "We’re cutting it close, Mols. The RSVPs said entry at two, and it is now two oh-five," Bill grumbled, tapping the steering wheel rhythmically. "Distractions take time to perfect, genius. Besides, the toddlers are on a severe nap cycle; statistically, the area is a sleeping giant. Even if the sugar hits, I’m the distraction." "I thought the nap cycle was the main variable in the entire operation?" "We pivot. If they sleep, we bag the loot and book. If they wake, I’ll distract them with glitter and promises of unicorns. It works every time, usually ending with me covered in pudding and you holding the money bag." "That was last time. Last time you promised unicorns, the kids actually cried because they wanted real ponies, and I had to throw a slice of pepperoni pizza at them to create a window of escape. That was traumatic, Molly." "It was an outlier! This is the golden goose. Look at this inventory list. Nintendo Switches, a rubber ducky throne, twenty-four cases of apple juice, and a shedload of Legos. We could fund a retirement home, Bill, or at least get you a decent rug." "It’s children’s toys, Molly. I can’t look a single parent in the eye and explain why my getaway vehicle is an electric wheelchair that’s currently parked in a handicap zone." "That’s insurance. If the fuzz stops us, we play the sympathy card. ‘Officer, he’s disabled, he just wanted to share in the joy of the holidays.’ You’re overthinking the optics again." "I’m thinking about the kneecaps. The dad is a personal trainer who looks like he might be ex-Special Forces. If he sees me inside his living room, he’s going to make my kneecaps into necklaces." "Then we change the element of surprise. We don't go in the front. We go in the ventilation." She pointed to the tiny, rusty grate above them. "I am not squeezing through a duct that requires a TSA pat-down. My pants are too tight." "Then I’ll drop the thermal imaging goggles. Look at the target, Bill. It’s a fortress of boredom. It’s ripe for the picking." "A fortress that serves pizza and cake. My stomach is growling louder than the security alarms I haven’t even installed yet." "Then be quiet and get the bag. We move at the sound of the piñata breaking."