"Check the perimeter," Molly whispered, adjusting her oversized polka-dot bowtie. "The perimeter is a bouncy castle," Bill replied. "Is it guarded?" "By a toddler named Tyler who lacks basic motor skills," Bill sighed, checking his watch. "Cake is served in five minutes. That represents our tactical window." Molly squinted through her binoculars at the mountain of brightly wrapped boxes. "Look at those ergonomics. They’re light, stackable, and probably full of Lego." "I hate Lego," Bill muttered. "Stepping on one is a professional hazard." "Focus, Bill. Do you have the distraction ready?" "I have three pounds of glitter and a sugar-free juice box." "Brutal," Molly grinned. "When the clown starts the balloon animals, we move. I take the gift table; you create a diversionary tantrum near the sandbox." "Why do I have to cry?" Bill complained. "It’s humiliating." "Because you have the range, Bill. Now, put on your party hat. We look like guests, not felons." "This hat is pinching my brain," Bill croaked, snapping the elastic chin strap. "That’s the price of greatness. Are you ready for the heist of the century?" "I'm ready for a nap," Bill said. "Let’s steal some toys."