Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the sticky diner table. "So the party starts at two. We go in through the back door by the bouncy castle." "I still think this is low, even for us," Bill said. "Low? We stole a golden retriever last month." "We returned him. He missed his family." "Focus, Bill. Little Timmy's turning eight, and his parents are loaded. We're talking high-end presents. Maybe a PlayStation." "What's our cover?" "You're Chuckles the Clown. I'm your assistant." "I'm not wearing the nose again." "You're wearing the nose." "It gave me a rash, Molly. A visible rash." "Beauty is pain. Now, the presents will be stacked by the fireplace. You distract the kids with balloon animals while I load up the van." "What if a kid cries?" "Kids always cry at parties. It's basically their job." "And the parents?" "Drunk on sangria by two-thirty. Trust me, I've done reconnaissance." "You went to a children's party alone?" "I wore a disguise." "What disguise?" "Concerned aunt." "We don't even know these people!" "Bill, every family has an aunt nobody recognizes. It's practically science. Now, are you in or out?"