Molly smoothed the crinkled blueprint of the Miller’s backyard across the van’s hood. The air, thick with the scent of impending cake, felt heavy. Her gloved finger traced the wobbly perimeter of the dinosaur-shaped bouncy castle, a primary obstacle. Its unpredictable undulations could throw a man off-balance, exposing him to the real enemy: sugar-fueled seven-year-olds with no concept of operational security. Bill, meticulously calibrating a high-powered party horn, nodded gravely. “What’s the play for the bouncy castle?” he asked, his voice a low whisper. “We avoid it. Too unstable.” “And what about the parents?” “The piñata is our key distraction.” Molly’s gaze shifted to the gift table, a glittering payload of presents wrapped in cartoon rocket ship paper. The piñata, a rainbow-striped unicorn, hung from a tree branch like a fragile, candy-filled bomb. A single, well-aimed rock from Bill’s slingshot would create a shower of cheap candy and glorious chaos, providing the perfect cover for them to snatch the goods and exfiltrate via the side gate. It was a flawless plan.