Bill adjusted his itchy, fake mustache while staring intently through the dense hedge. The suburban backyard was a chaotic minefield of screaming children and aggressive clowns. A stray balloon drifted past his ear, popping ominously. Molly checked her watch, ignoring a fat bumblebee buzzing near her head. A sticky toddler waddled by, drooling copiously on Bill’s tactical shin guard. He flinched in pure horror, wiping the slime away with a gloved hand. The target was glittering in the afternoon sun, looking like a mountain of cardboard and wrapping paper. It was a risky job, but the payout was legendary for thieves of their caliber. "Is the unicorn piñata still the distraction?" "Yes. While they beat it to a pulp, we swipe the pile." "Stealing from six-year-olds is low, Molls." "It’s simply wealth redistribution." "Do we really need a limited edition Hello Kitty bike?" "Resale value is through the roof. Get ready." "Security is tight. That mom with the double stroller is packing heat. I saw juice boxes." "Focus! The gifts are by the cake. We move on my signal." "What's the signal?" "When they sing 'Happy Birthday'. They close their eyes to make a wish." "You’re a monster." "Move out."