The map on the grease-stained napkin was barely legible, mostly because Bill had drawn the house in the shape of a giant, angry cupcake. We strike at thirteen-hundred hours, Bill whispered, adjusting his night-vision goggles even though it was bright enough outside to squint. It is a toddler’s birthday party, Bill, Molly said, leaning against the side of the rusted van. Why am I wearing a ghillie suit in the suburbs? Because stealth is paramount when dealing with the under-four demographic, Bill insisted. Have you seen their peripheral vision? It’s like they’re owls. They are children, not predatory birds, Molly snapped, plucking a plastic leaf off her shoulder. Where are the targets located? The primary gift cache is on the mahogany sideboard, Bill explained, tapping the cupcake drawing with a stubby finger. Most of it is light stuff. Legos, stuffed bears, maybe some high-end wooden blocks. But the prize is the big box at the back. The Power Wheels Jeep? Molly asked. The limited edition glitter-finish monster truck, Bill corrected. We grab that, and we retire for at least three weeks. Bill, we are stealing toys from a four-year-old named Tyler, Molly said, sighing deeply. This is a new low for the syndicate. The syndicate is currently broke because you insisted on buying organic getaway snacks, Bill shot back. Now, the distraction? I have the cake delivery outfit in the back, Molly said, gesturing to the van. I walk in with the three-tier vanilla sponge, everyone turns toward the sugar, and you slip through the sliding glass door. And what if the clown sees me? Bill asked, his voice trembling slightly. The clown is seventy years old and reeks of gin, Bill. He’s not going to tackle you. He has giant shoes, Molly. He could trip me with zero effort. It’s a tactical nightmare. Focus, Bill, Molly commanded. Once you have the haul, you signal me using the bird call. The pigeon or the hawk? The pigeon. The hawk makes you sound like you’re having a seizure. Fine, Bill grumbled, checking his tactical belt, which was mostly filled with juice boxes. Do we have a plan for the bouncy castle? Why would we need a plan for the bouncy castle? It’s the high ground, Molly! If they mount a counter-offensive from the inflatable turret, we’re pinned down. Nobody is mounting an offensive, Bill. They are eating chicken nuggets and crying because they dropped their hats. Now, put on your mask. The Batman one or the bank robber one? The bank robber one, Bill! We discussed this. The Batman one makes you look like a guest. But I want to look like a guest if I get caught! Bill argued. If you get caught, I’m leaving you there to explain the ghillie suit to Tyler’s mother. That’s cold, Molly. Even for a professional. Move out, Bill. The cake is sweating.