Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the sticky diner table and jabbed her finger at a wobbly rectangle. "That's the bouncy castle. Our primary obstacle." Bill squinted at the paper. "Why is it labeled 'death trap'?" "Because I've done my research, Bill. Do you know how many adults tear their ACLs in bouncy castles every year?" "I genuinely do not." "Neither do I, but it feels like a lot. We go around it, not through it." Bill stirred his coffee and leaned back in the booth. "Walk me through this again. We're stealing presents from a seven-year-old's birthday party?" "We're liberating presents from a seven-year-old's birthday party. There's a difference." "Is there, though?" "The kid's name is Maximilian Worthington the Fourth. His father owns half the commercial real estate in this city, including the building where my grandmother's bakery used to be before he tripled her rent." "So this is revenge?" "This is justice served with a side of buttercream frosting. The party starts at two. We infiltrate at two-fifteen during the magician's act." "There's a magician?" "The Amazing Rodrigo. He does a twenty-minute set with a rabbit that apparently bites. Everyone will be distracted." Bill pulled out a small notebook. "What's our cover?" "You're a clown." "Absolutely not." "Bill, you have to be the clown." "I have a degree in art history. I didn't study the Renaissance masters to wear oversized shoes." "Your degree is why you're broke enough to be doing this with me. Put on the nose." "What's your cover, then?" "I'm the balloon animal lady. We're a package deal. The Worthingtons hired entertainment through an agency, so I called and said we were complimentary add-ons." "And they believed you?" "Rich people never question free things. They assume they deserve them." Bill drummed his fingers on the table. "Where are the presents being kept?" "Pool house. Separate structure, maybe forty feet from the main party area. I need you to cause a distraction at two-twenty." "What kind of distraction?" "Make a balloon giraffe." "That's not very distracting." "It is if you make it wrong and it looks inappropriate. Parents will swarm you with complaints. I slip into the pool house, load the goods into my catering cart, and wheel everything out through the service entrance." "This feels morally complicated, Molly." "Does it help if I tell you the kid already has a pony? A real one. Named Chancellor Buttons." "That does help, actually." "Good. Now, there's one security guard, but he's mostly there to keep the pony from escaping again." "Again?" "Chancellor Buttons has a history. Focus, Bill. We rendezvous at the van by two-thirty-five. My cousin Terrence will be driving. He owes me for the incident we don't discuss." "You have a lot of incidents you don't discuss." "That's what makes me interesting." Molly folded the map and slid it into her jacket. "So, are you in?" Bill sighed heavily. "What color is my clown nose?"