"You’re seriously suggesting we break into a five-year-old’s birthday party?" Bill adjusted his mask. "What’s the big score, stickers and juice boxes?" "Eighteen wrapped presents, premium Lego sets and at least one Nintendo Switch, conservative street value four hundred dollars," Molly said. "The clown performer exits at exactly four. That’s our entry window." "Since when do professional clowns have designated windows?" "Focus, Bill! We infiltrate as the caterers. I’ve got the uniforms waiting in the van, extra large for you." Bill held up a plastic spider ring. "And this is supposed to be our primary weapon?" "Distraction device. Kids love sparkly things. While they’re chasing the spider through the kitchen, we grab the presents and exfiltrate through the side gate." "What if they start crying instead of chasing?" "That’s exactly the point. Chaos equals coverage." Molly checked her watch. "The concentrated loot is positioned by the piñata." "Is that actual glitter on the blueprint?" "Security measure. Gets everywhere. Makes DNA evidence impossible to collect." "We’re drinking our way out past the juice boxes marked the Exit Strategy?" "Camouflage," Molly strapped on a belt. "If anyone asks, we’re very committed uncles." "With visible lockpicks?" "They’re decorative candlesticks!" "Right. Because that’s completely normal at a toddler’s party." "Stay positive. We reconvene at the bouncy castle at sixteen hundred hours sharp."