The van smelled like stale pizza and broken dreams, which Molly thought was appropriate given their current circumstances. Bill spread the hand-drawn map across the dashboard, squinting at his own handwriting. The crayon had been a poor choice, but it was all they could find in the glove compartment. "Okay, so the target is a six-year-old named Timothy," Bill said, tapping the paper with authority. "His parents have rented out the entire Chuck E. Cheese for the afternoon." Molly peered through her binoculars at the building across the parking lot. A stream of minivans was depositing children like some kind of chaotic clown car assembly line. "This feels wrong, Bill. These are children. They're innocent." "Innocent? Molly, do you know what kids are getting these days? I'm talking iPads, gaming consoles, those little electric cars that cost more than our actual van." "That's a low bar considering our van was technically stolen from a church." "Borrowed. We borrowed it from the church. And we're going to return it eventually." Molly lowered her binoculars and turned to face her partner. His balaclava was on backwards, which tracked with their usual level of professionalism. "Your mask is inside out." "It's a stylistic choice." "You look like a confused thumb." Bill adjusted the mask with wounded dignity while Molly returned to surveillance. A woman in a bright purple dinosaur costume was greeting children at the entrance, and somewhere inside, a mechanical band was probably traumatizing another generation. "Walk me through the plan again," Molly said with a heavy sigh. "Right, so we go in through the ball pit. Nobody suspects the ball pit." "Everyone suspects the ball pit. It's literally where criminals would hide." "Fine, then we go through the kitchen. I've got food service uniforms in the back." "Do they say 'definitely not thieves' on them?" "No, they say 'catering by Giuseppe' which I thought was classy." Molly rubbed her temples, feeling a headache forming behind her eyes. This was supposed to be a simple job. Get in, grab the presents during the cake distraction, get out. But nothing was ever simple with Bill. "What about the parents? There's going to be at least twenty adults in there." "That's the beauty of it. Parents at children's parties are basically zombies. They're exhausted, overstimulated, and probably hiding wine in their coffee cups." "That's oddly specific." "I did reconnaissance. Patricia in the corner is on her third thermos." Molly had to admit, the logic was almost sound. Almost being the operative word that had landed them in prison twice before. "And the animatronic band?" "What about them?" "They have cameras in their eyes, Bill. Security cameras." Bill's face went pale beneath his backwards balaclava. "Nobody told me about robot surveillance." "It was in the briefing materials I gave you." "The coloring book?" "It was illustrated for clarity."