The inside of the van smelled of wilting chrysanthemums and Bill’s tuna sandwich. He slurped the last of it from the container as Molly pointed a gloved finger at a crayon-drawn map of a suburban backyard. “Right. Phase one. We rendezvous at the bouncy castle at fourteen-hundred hours.” “Molly, I still don’t see why we can’t just wait until they’re all asleep,” Bill mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s safer.” “No, no, no! The element of surprise is key. We hit them during the ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey’ gauntlet. That’s our window of opportunity. All adult eyes will be on a blindfolded child with a sharp object. It’s perfect.” Bill took a noisy bite of his sandwich. “And what about the kids? They have eyes. And grabby hands. Little Kevin is a menace. He bit me last time.” “That’s where I come in. I’ll be the entertainment. A delightful distraction.” “You? What are you going to do, recite tax law?” “I’m going to make balloon animals, Bill. But not just any animals. I’m crafting a life-sized, anatomically correct balloon squid. It will be magnificent and confusing. It will draw all attention.” She spread her hands, as if visualizing the cephalopod. “While I’m mesmerizing the masses with my latex marine life, you’re on asset acquisition.” “Me? What am I supposed to do? Walk up and ask for the presents?” “You go in, secure the presents. The big pile by the slide is the primary target, but be on the lookout for any unattended gift bags. Exfiltration is via the side gate.” “And the birthday boy? Timmy? He’s going to notice a man in a black turtleneck stuffing his new bike into a sack.” “You’ll handle Timmy. Engage him. Ask him about his interests. His hopes. His dreams.” “He’s seven, Molly. His dreams are about Pokémon and not having to eat broccoli. What do I even say to him?” “Pretend you’re a talent scout for a major toy company. Tell him he has the ‘look’.” Bill sighed, the sound of a man defeated by logistics. “Fine. But if one of them asks me to do my badger impression again, the deal’s off. Last time, little Jessica Peterson cried for an hour.”