Bill adjusted the focus on the night-vision goggles, even though it was two in the afternoon and the sun was blasting suburban Connecticut with the force of a thousand oven lamps. The goggles were strictly for the aesthetic, a necessary psychological edge when facing off against a target as volatile as a six-year-old’s birthday bash. The air conditioning in their panel van was rattling like a dying chainsaw, doing little to combat the humidity that was currently turning Bill’s tactical turtleneck into a sponge of despair. A half-eaten stick of beef jerky lay on the dashboard, wilting in the heat. Across the street, number forty-two was a sensory assault of primary colors. Giant inflatable dinosaurs flanked the driveway, and a bouncy castle in the shape of a toaster wobbled violently in the wind. It was a fortress of joy, and it made Bill’s teeth ache. "We’re hitting the fifteen-minute window," Bill grunted, lowering the goggles. "That’s when the magician starts sawing the lady in half. Chaos theory, Molly." Molly didn't look up from her tablet, where she was scrolling through a blueprint of a split-level ranch she’d downloaded from Zillow. She tapped a stylus against the glass, her manicured nails clicking rhythmically. She looked disgustingly cool in a windbreaker, sipping an iced latte while Bill sweltered. "We aren't waiting for the magician. The parents are the weak link. They’ve been negotiating sugar crashes for three hours," she said, her voice calm. "By 2:00 PM, the hosts will be mainlining lukewarm coffee in the pantry. That’s our in." "What about the perimeter sensors?" Bill asked, pointing a gloved finger at the immaculate lawn. "The neighbor has a motion-activated sprinkler." "I’ve checked the angle. It’s aimed at the squirrels," she replied. "You worry about the kids. They’re the real security. If one of them spots us, the backup comes running. You don't want to be tackled by a dozen glitter-covered first graders." Bill shuddered, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He looked through the windshield at the mountain of wrapped parcels accumulating on the patio table. There was a distinct shape that screamed 'gaming console' beneath the wrapping paper featuring cartoon unicorns. It was a target-rich environment. He could see the corner of a box that promised a 'Deluxe Chemistry Set' and something that was definitely a drone, likely equipped with a camera that would haunt his nightmares. "The payload," Bill whispered, wiping sweat from his upper lip. "Look at the cubic footage on that pile, Molly. It’s the motherlode. We’re talking LEGOs, action figures, probably that robot dog that actually walks." "Keep your eyes on the prize," Molly said, slipping the tablet into her jacket. "We go in, we grab the bags, we leave the wrapping paper. We ghost them before the cake cutting. We aren't monsters, Bill." Bill nodded, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He watched the innocent, unsuspecting children running in circles, fueled by juice boxes and optimism. They had no idea that their happiness was about to be redistributed. "Okay," Bill said, taking a deep breath. "Let’s go ruin some birthdays."