Molly adjusted her night-vision goggles and squinted at the laminated floor plan spread across the dashboard. "You're telling me we're breaking into a bouncy castle?" Bill wiped frosting off his tactical vest with a greasy napkin. "It's not just a bouncy castle. It's a Princess Palace Mega-Jumper with dual slide attachments. The Sanchez kid's parents rented the deluxe package from Party Depot. Top-of-the-line inflatable architecture." "And the presents are inside the castle?" "They're in the gift pile next to the cake table, but here's the genius part." Bill unrolled a crayon drawing of the backyard across the steering wheel. "The castle blocks the view from the kitchen window. We go in hot during pin-the-tail, grab the loot, and exfiltrate through the hedge maze before the magician starts his act." Molly stared at him over her coffee cup. "Bill, we're thirty-two years old." "Your point?" "My point is that we're career criminals with forty years of combined experience planning a tactical insertion into a four-year-old's birthday party." She tapped the drawing with her pen. "Also, why does the dog have laser beams shooting from its eyes?" "That's the neighbor's Rottweiler. I bought bacon-scented decoys from the hunting store to distract it during our approach." "Of course you did." "Look, the average take from a suburban kids' party is three grand in electronics and gift cards. Plus, unopened LEGO sets move fast on the secondary market this time of year." Bill reached behind his seat and pulled out a shopping bag. "I got us costumes." Molly peered inside and pulled out two polo shirts. "We're going as clowns?" "Better. We're going as 'party coordinators.' These shirts say 'Fun Time Events' on the back. We blend in, confiscate the presents for 'safekeeping,' and vanish before they sing happy birthday." "That's not a thing. No one confiscates presents at a children's party." "They will if we say we're checking for peanut allergies. Parents are terrified of liability since the incident at the McAllister house." Bill checked his watch and started the engine. "Game time is two PM. The clown arrives at two-thirty, so we have a twenty-minute window." Molly sighed and picked up her duffel bag from the floorboard. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but what's the getaway plan?" "Minivan in the cul-de-sac. I borrowed my sister's car seat to look legitimate." "And if the kids ask why we're taking their toys?" Bill grinned as he pulled into traffic. "We tell them Santa's elves need to run quality control before December." "That's diabolical." "That's professional." Bill handed her a clipboard with official-looking paperwork. "Memorize the cover story. You're checking for choking hazards. I'm verifying gift receipt compliance." Molly scanned the sheet. "You forged a municipal ordinance about gift wrapping?" "City code 47-B. All presents must be clear-cellophane for security screening." "There is no city code 47-B." "These parents don't know that. They're just relieved someone else is watching the chaos for ten minutes." Bill shouldered his heavy bag. "Ready to make some birthday magic?" Molly pulled her baseball cap low over her eyes. "If we get arrested, I'm telling the cops this was entirely your idea." "Fair enough." Bill paused at the door with his hand on the handle. "Hey, Molly?" "What?" "If there's a piñata, I'm taking a swing. For old times' sake." "Focus, Bill. We're here for the Nintendo Switches, not the candy." "Spoilsport."