Molly adjusted her night vision goggles, which kept slipping down her nose. The elastic band was designed for a toddler's tiny skull. She pushed them back up with a grimace. "Remind me why we're robbing a six-year-old's birthday instead of a bank?" Bill unrolled crayon-stained blueprints across the van's rusty hood. He tapped the drawing with a juice-stained finger. "Banks have cameras. Timmy Henderson's backyard has a bounce house and zero security." The streetlight flickered above the cul-de-sac as they hid behind the hydrangeas. "We go past the sleeping clown, grab the gifts, and exfiltrate before the piñata." "The clown is sleeping?" "He's had four Long Island Iced Teas." Molly studied the intercepted list: Lego sets, video games, something called a "FurReal" puppy. "There's a living animal on the heist roster?" "We leave the puppy. Professionals have standards." Bill handed her a red party hat with the price tag dangling. "Disguise. You'll blend in with the guests." "I'm thirty-four." "You'll be the tallest seven-year-old they've ever seen. Memorize the phrase: 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey.'" Molly sighed loudly, pulling the elastic under her chin until it dug painfully into her throat. "I went to prison for art theft, Bill. Art theft."