Molly crouched behind the hedge, binoculars pressed against her face, watching the chaos of screaming six-year-olds in the backyard. She'd seen maximum security prisons with less surveillance, though those didn't involve parents wielding smartphones like weapons. "This is insane," Bill whispered beside her, adjusting his fake mustache even though they were still fifty feet away. "It's brilliant," Molly corrected. "Look at that present table. I count at least twenty boxes." "We're robbing children. Children, Molly." She lowered the binoculars and shot him a look that could curdle milk. "We're robbing terrible parents who spend two hundred dollars on gifts for a kid who still eats paste. There's a difference." Bill peered through the fence slats, his expression somewhere between guilt and indigestion. The present table sat near the back door, unfortunately positioned between a bouncy castle and a clown making balloon animals. The clown had dead eyes that suggested he'd seen some things. Bill related to that clown. "The shift change is in ten minutes," Molly said, checking her watch. "When they bring out the cake, everyone focuses on the birthday boy. That's our window." "What shift change? It's a birthday party, not a guard rotation." "Parent attention spans. Keep up, Bill." She pulled out a rolled blueprint, which was actually just a napkin with crayon drawings. "You go in from the east, I'll create a distraction by the bouncy castle." "What kind of distraction?" "The unexpected kind. Just be ready." Bill sighed deeply, the sound of a man reconsidering every life choice that led to this hedge. Ten years ago, he was boosting cars and cracking safes. Now he was preparing to infiltrate a Paw Patrol themed birthday party. The next eight minutes crawled by like a DMV line. Then, right on schedule, two parents emerged carrying a cake the size of a small car, ablaze with candles. The crowd surged toward the picnic table. "Now!" Molly hissed. She darted toward the bouncy castle while Bill crept along the fence line. He watched as she did something near the castle's air pump, and suddenly the inflatable structure began deflating with a sad wheeze. Kids tumbled out like confused refugees. Bill reached the present table and started grabbing boxes, shoving them into his expandable duffel bag. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, even as his conscience screamed. A particularly heavy box nearly slipped from his grasp. "HEY!" someone shouted. Bill's heart stopped. He turned to see a toddler pointing at him, juice box in hand. "You're not the present man," the kid said. "Actually, I'm the present fairy," Bill improvised desperately. "Taking these to fairy headquarters for quality testing." The kid considered this. "Okay," he said, and wandered off. Bill stuffed the last box and ran.