The inside of the van smelled of stale coffee and regret. Across the street, number 42 was a crime against good taste, a riot of pink and purple balloons clinging to a mailbox shaped like a cartoon castle. Molly hunched over a crudely drawn floor plan on the back of a pizza box, her pen tapping a nervous rhythm against a grease stain. Bill was meticulously picking the sprinkles off a crumbly donut. “The target is a seven-year-old’s birthday party. The payload is in the living room, by the giant inflatable pirate ship,” Molly said, her voice a low hiss. “Are those little sausages? In a blanket? I love those,” Bill mumbled, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the backyard. “Focus, Bill. The presents.” “Right, presents. But do you see the bouncy castle? We could…” “That’s the secondary objective. Your role is the diversion.” Bill sighed, a cloud of powdered sugar puffing from his lips. “The sad panda? I still feel like a bear would be more intimidating.” Molly didn’t look up. “A sad panda is disarming. Parents see a sad panda, they feel pity. They don’t see a threat. You will create a ten-minute window of social awkwardness for me to get in and out. I’ll enter through the patio door during the chaos of ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey.’ The lock is a simple latch.” “And what if the presents are heavy? What if one of them is a Lego set? Those things are a nightmare to carry. A million tiny pieces. You step on one in the dark and it’s game over.” “We have a duffel bag, Bill. We’re professionals.” She finally met his gaze, her expression dead serious. “The extraction window is narrow. Once the presents are secured, we rendezvous back here. No detours.” “Right. Professionals.” He popped the last of the plain donut into his mouth. “So, after we grab the loot, we can still have cake, right? I saw a unicorn cake. That feels like a violation not to at least try.” Molly dropped her head into her hands, the pizza box crinkling under the strain. The heist was already a disaster.