Molly pressed her back against the fence, peering through a knot hole at the chaos of balloons and screaming six-year-olds beyond. "I can't believe we're doing this." "Twenty grand in gifts, Mol. That's what my intel says." Bill adjusted his unnecessarily large sunglasses. "Some tech mogul's kid. Probably got iPads in those gift bags." "Your intel is your nephew who delivers pizza to rich people." "Tommy's very observant." A particularly shrill shriek erupted from the bouncy castle. Molly winced. Children were everywhere, sticky-handed missiles of chaos wearing princess costumes and superhero capes. The present table sat near the back door, groaning under mountains of elaborate wrapping paper. "Okay, so what's the plan?" Molly asked. Bill pulled out a hand-drawn map on a napkin. "You go in through the side gate dressed as the pony." "I'm sorry, dressed as what?" "The pony. For pony rides." He gestured to a mangy costume crumpled in a duffel bag at their feet. "I called and canceled the real one." Molly stared at the costume. One of its button eyes hung by a thread. "That thing looks like it has diseases. Plural." "It's called commitment to the craft." "It's called a felony and a tetanus shot." Bill ignored her, continuing his briefing. "While you're ponying around, I'll slip in as the backup clown. Kids love clowns." "Kids are terrified of clowns. Everyone's terrified of clowns. There's been studies." "That's the beauty of it. They'll be too scared to notice me loading presents into my oversized clown duffel." Molly rubbed her temples. Last month it was stealing a dog from a pet show. The month before, replacing a city councilman's toupee with a ferret. She was really questioning her career choices. "Why can't we rob normal people?" she asked. "Adults. With insurance." "Where's the challenge in that?" "Where's the prison sentence in that, you mean." A woman's voice called out from the party. "Has anyone seen the entertainer? The pony should be here by now!" Bill shoved the costume at Molly. "That's your cue." "I hate you so much right now." "You'll thank me when we're splitting twenty grand." Molly grabbed the costume, examining its moth-eaten mane with disgust. "If I get kicked by a child, I'm keeping your share." "Deal. Now get in character." "Horses don't have character. They just stand there and poop." "Then you're perfect for the role." She punched his arm, but began pulling the costume on over her clothes. Bill applied his red nose and oversized shoes, transforming into something from a fever dream. "Ready?" he asked. Molly's voice came muffled from inside the horse head. "I can't see anything." "Perfect. That's method acting." They approached the gate as another chorus of "Happy Birthday" erupted from inside. Bill squared his shoulders. "Let's go steal some presents."