Bill rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, staring out the darkened window of the hideout van. The rain drummed a nervous rhythm against the metal roof, muffled by the sound of his own sighing. "I just need you to confirm one detail before I surrender," he said, looking over at Molly. "The target?" "The puppy pen," Molly said, checking the bullets in her revolver with surgical precision. "High visibility, low security. The guards are guarding the cake, not the doghouse. It’s perfect." "The guards are toddlers, Molly. Toddlers have teeth. And they scream loud enough to shatter glass. If a single kid cries, the police are called in two seconds flat." "Then we don't let them cry. We move in silence. We move like ninjas." "Ninjas don't wear fuzzy chicken suits," Bill complained, tightening his shoelaces. "Where’s my bunny suit?" "It’s at the dry cleaners," Molly sighed. "Wearing a bunny suit is too conspicuous. We need to blend in. We need to be the cool uncles." "We aren't uncles. We're career criminals with balaclavas. They're going to know we're there the second we step in." "They'll be too busy watching the clown juggle chainsaws. Concentrate on your job, Bill. Take out the clown's nose. Once the noise stops, I swipe the table." "What happens after I take out the clown's nose?" "Then we steal the balloons. And run." "Run where?" "Anywhere." "Fine. But if I get ketchup on the suit, I'm taking you down with me." "Deal. Let's roll."