Bill peered through binoculars, the cheap plastic digging into his nose. Across the street, a rainbow bouncy castle sagged like a defeated jellyfish. “Stop gawking and review the schematics,” Molly hissed, tapping a crudely drawn map of a suburban backyard. Bill lowered the binoculars, his face a mask of doubt. The “schematics” were a napkin stained with what he hoped was ketchup. “I still say we’re underestimating the parents. They're a volatile, unpredictable force, especially after three hours of juice boxes.” “Nonsense. The key is the clown. His balloon-animal-making is a ten-minute distraction. That’s our window for the grab.” She circled a picture of a weeping clown. The plan’s “Extraction Phase” was simply titled “Grab N’ Run.” “And the presents? The payload? What’s the count on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures?” “Intel suggests at least four. Possibly a deluxe playset. Now, get the gear. We move when ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey’ commences.” Bill sighed, grabbing a burlap sack from the floor. He’d faced down armed guards, but the thought of a hundred screaming seven-year-olds terrified him.