Molly adjusted the rearview mirror, checking her reflection one last time before turning her gaze toward the suburban house. A brightly colored banner flapped violently in the wind, announcing 'TIMMY’S SUPER 6TH BIRTHDAY BASH' in glittery, holographic letters. "That is the target," Molly whispered, pointing a manicured finger at the ranch home. "Look at the security perimeter. It’s a nightmare. Three layers of emotional manipulation and at least two stay-at-home dads with camera phones." Bill sighed, slumping deeper into the passenger seat of the stolen sedan. He popped a handful of stale popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly. "Molls, come on. It’s a bouncy castle. And I think that 'security' is just a golden retriever chasing its tail." "Underestimation is the number one cause of failure in this business," Molly snapped, checking her watch. "We have a forty-five-minute window before the pizza arrives. That’s the chaos window. That’s when we strike." "I still don't understand why we're doing this," Bill grumbled, wiping butter off his tactical vest. "We’re international jewel thieves. We lifted the Kohinoor diamond. Now we’re swiping Lego sets from a first grader?" "We aren't swiping anything, Bill. We are performing a resource reallocation," Molly corrected him sharply. "Do you know what the market value is for an unopened 'Cyber-Drone 3000'? Two grand. That table over there has at least twenty of them. That’s forty grand for twenty minutes of work." Bill squinted through the binoculars. He winced. "Okay, new intel. There’s a clown. He’s juggling bowling pins. And he looks unstable." "Clowns are unpredictable agents," Molly agreed, grabbing a walkie-talkie. "We need a hard diversion. When I give the signal, you engage the entertainer." "Engage him how? Ask him to make me a balloon poodle?" "No. You challenge him to a balloon sword fight," Molly ordered, her eyes dead serious. "Create a scene. While the suburban moms are busy breaking up a grown man fighting a clown, I slip around the back, hit the gift table, and load the loot into the trunk." "I’m going to get beat up by a guy wearing oversized shoes," Bill whined, tossing the popcorn bag onto the floor mat. "My reputation in the underworld is going to be ruined. 'Bill the Basher,' taken out by Bozo." "Stop complaining. I’ve got the getaway route planned. We cut through the hedge, hop the fence to the elementary school, and we’re scot-free," Molly said, checking the magazine of her tranquilizer gun. "Now, are you ready to make some money, or do you want to go back to stealing copper wiring from construction sites?" Bill stared at the happy children running through the sprinkler. He reached into the backseat and grabbed a fuzzy, brown bear mascot head. "Fine. But if I get glitter on me, I’m keeping half the profits." "Deal," Molly grinned, revving the engine. "Now get your head in the game. And the bear suit." "I hate this job," Bill’s muffled voice came from inside the costume. "I know," Molly replied, putting the car in gear. "That’s why I pay you the big bucks."