The beige station wagon in the driveway mocked Bill’s very existence. He crouched behind the oleander bush, trying to scratch his nose without disturbing the pollen that was currently attempting to suffocate him. "Target is soft," Molly whispered, adjusting her tactical balaclava. "The perimeter is compromised by streamers." "It’s a five-year-old’s birthday, Molls, not Fort Knox," Bill grunted, shifting his weight off a sharp rock. "Can I take the mask off? It’s ninety degrees out here." "Negative. Visibility is key. We maintain cover until the Musical Chairs distraction initiates," she stated, checking her watch. "Do you have the heavy-duty trash bags?" "Right here," Bill patted his cargo pocket. "But are we really doing this? Stealing Lego sets? My criminal record is for grand larceny. This feels like a step down." "Think about the resale value on the black market," Molly countered, eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses. "The limited edition action figures alone are worth five grand. We hit the pile, we grab the loot, and vanish before the candle lighting." "The kids are going to cry," Bill noted softly. "Collateral damage," she dismissed with a wave of her gloved hand. "Look, the team is assembling. The dads are forming a defensive line around the cooler. We need to bypass the main force." "How do we bypass a dozen guys drinking light beer?" "We blend," Molly said, pulling two rubber noses from her utility belt. "Put this on. We walk in like eccentric uncles. We grab the gift mountain, and walk out." "A rubber nose? That’s the disguise?" "It’s psychological warfare, Bill. No one suspects a guy with a rubber nose," she insisted. "On my mark. Three, two, one..." "Wait, is that a piñata?" Bill panicked, eyeing the colorful donkey hanging from the oak tree. "Hold position! It’s a decoy!" "It’s shaped like a donkey, Molls!" "It’s a trap! Stay down!" she grabbed his shoulder. "We wait for the sugar crash. The parents will be weak. The children will be delirious. That is our window." "I hate you so much right now," Bill groaned, attaching the red sphere to his face. "Save the passion for the getaway driver," Molly quipped, crouching lower. "Remember, we leave no wrapping paper behind. We’re professionals." "I’ll be sure to use a dustpan," he muttered. "Silence. The clown is parking."