The interior of the unmarked surveillance van smelled faintly of stale coffee and latex. Outside the rain-streaked window, the suburban landscape of 42 Maplewood Drive was deceptively calm, save for the occasional ripple of high-pitched laughter drifting over the white picket fence. Bill hunched over the monitor, squinting at the grainy black-and-white footage of toddlers swarming a plastic table like sugar-crazed locusts. "Target assessment complete," Bill muttered, scratching at his chin stubble. "The security is tight. I see three dads manning the grill, and a grandma with a purse that looks big enough to hold a Taser." "Grandma is a non-issue," Molly replied, sharply tapping a highlighted map of the property with a grease pencil. "She’s likely diabetic. She won't be able to give chase on foot. Focus on the real threats: the piñata and the goat." "They rented a goat?" Bill asked, horrified. "What kind of six-year-old has a petting zoo at their house? Is this a mob boss's kid?" "No, it’s just an over-indulgent dentist," Molly corrected, checking the battery on her comms unit. "But that goat is a biological alarm system. If it starts bleating, the whole operation goes south. You need to neutralize it." "Neutralize how? I can't exactly garrote a farm animal, Molls. I have standards." "Feed it. There’s a bag of carrots in your kit. Keep the goat happy while I extract the package," Molly said, pacing the tight space between the consoles. "Now, talk me through the exit strategy." "I load the loot into the wagon, you create a distraction with the confetti cannon, and we bail," Bill recited, his eyes glazing over. "But I’m worried about the size of the haul. Some of those boxes look big. Are we sure we can fit that giant spaceship thing?" "We aren't here for the spaceship, you idiot," Molly snapped, pointing at the screen. "We’re here for the gift cards. Look at the envelopes taped to the front. That’s liquid cash. The toys are just dead weight. Grab the envelopes, ditch the boxes." "So we're literally stealing cash from babies," Bill sighed, leaning back against the wall. "My mom is going to be so proud when she visits me in prison." "It’s not prison if you don’t get caught," Molly said, sliding the side door open just a crack to let in the cool air. "Now, put on the rainbow wig. The party’s starting, and we are the special guests." "I hate this job," Bill grumbled, pulling the synthetic hair over his ears. "But the carrot part is nice. I like goats." "Get in position," Molly commanded. "And Bill? Try to look like you enjoy being a clown."