"What about the bouncy castle?" Bill asked, staring through a pair of dented binoculars that were mostly held together by duct tape. "I’ve already told you, Bill, the bouncy castle is a tactical asset, not an obstacle," Molly said, her finger tracing a messy crayon map of the backyard. "If we hit the deck at high speed, we use the bounce to clear the picket fence." "I have a bad knee, Molly. One wrong bounce and I’m a human accordion." "Then don't bounce wrong. Focus. The objective is the mahogany gift table situated between the juice box station and the pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey zone." "It’s a minefield," Bill whispered, his voice trembling. "Have you seen the ground? It’s covered in Legos. Barefoot, I’d be dead in seconds." "Which is why we wear the tactical sneakers," Molly snapped. "I didn't steal those orthopedics from the bowling alley for a fashion statement." "And the guards?" "You mean the seven-year-olds?" Molly checked her watch. "The target demographics will be occupied by a high-sugar cake distribution event at fourteen-hundred hours. That’s our window." "What if the clown sees us?" Bill asked, pointing toward a man in oversized shoes currently struggling to twist a long yellow balloon into something that looked vaguely like a sentient eggplant. "The clown is a third-party contractor," Molly said dismissively. "He’s paid to make balloon poodles, not to be a hero. He won't intervene unless we mess with his tip jar." "I don't like his nose, Molly. It screams 'informant'." "Ignore the nose. Focus on the haul. Rumor has it there’s a limited edition Galactic Ranger set in a gold-wrapped box. That thing resells for three hundred on the dark web." "Three hundred? I could buy a lot of Ibuprofen with that." "Exactly. Now, do you have the distraction?" Bill reached into his trench coat and produced a crumpled paper bag. "Silly string. Six cans. Industrial grade." "Good. If the toddler in the Spider-Man suit tries to intercept, you spray for the eyes. No mercy, Bill." "I don't know, Molly. He looks like a biter." "They’re all biters! That’s why we stay low. We move like shadows, we grab the loot, and we rendezvous at the sandbox." "What if there's a magician? You didn't mention a magician." Bill’s eyes widened as a man in a polyester cape stepped onto the patio. "Abortion! Abortion!" Molly hissed. "You mean abort! Abort the mission!" "Whatever! He’s got an assistant! That’s two extra sets of eyes!" "He’s pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Molly! It’s a distraction! This is our chance!" "Wait," Molly said, grabbing his arm. "Look at the rabbit. Is it… is it wearing a tiny tuxedo?" "It is. That’s class." "Forget the presents, Bill. Change of plans. We’re stealing the rabbit." "The rabbit? What's the street value on a tuxedoed rabbit?" "Higher than a Galactic Ranger set, you idiot! It’s a specialist item! Move! Move! Move!"