Molly pressed her face against the chain-link fence, scanning the backyard with professional intensity. A dozen screaming children ran circles around a bounce house shaped like a castle. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" Bill asked, adjusting his fake mustache for the third time. "I'm telling you, the intel is solid. That kid's loaded." "He's eight." "His parents are loaded." Molly pulled out a crumpled invitation from her pocket. "See? Premium cardstock. Embossed lettering. Nobody springs for embossing unless they're rolling in it." Bill squinted at the bouncy castle. A clown was making balloon animals near the gift table, which overflowed with elaborately wrapped packages. "What's our entry strategy?" "I've got two options. We go in as entertainers, or we pose as somebody's very late parents." "I can't do magic anymore, not after the incident." "What incident?" "I don't want to talk about it." Bill tugged at his collar. "What about the clown? Won't he notice competition?" Molly dismissed this with a wave. "Clowns are territorial but stupid. We'll tell him we're the backup entertainment. Everyone always forgets to cancel the backup." They watched a woman emerge from the house carrying an enormous birthday cake shaped like a dinosaur. The children swarmed like hungry piranhas. "That's our window," Molly said. "During cake time, everyone's distracted. We grab the haul and disappear." "How do we transport thirty presents?" "I brought the wagon." Bill turned to see a small red Radio Flyer partially hidden behind a bush. "That wagon? Molly, that wagon couldn't fit five presents." "Not with that attitude." A particularly piercing shriek erupted from the party as the bounce house claimed another victim. Bill winced. "I'm starting to think this isn't worth it. What could these presents possibly contain? Legos? Action figures?" "Use your imagination. Gift cards. Tablets. Maybe even cash." "Parents give eight-year-olds cash?" "Rich parents do." Molly checked her watch. "Okay, the cake's been out for three minutes. Sugar rush imminent. Let's move." "Wait, we never decided our cover story!" But Molly was already walking toward the gate with alarming confidence. Bill grabbed the wagon handle and hurried after her, his fake mustache slipping sideways. "Hello!" Molly announced brightly as they entered. "We're the backup puppeteers!" The clown looked up from his balloon giraffe, confused. "Nobody told me about puppeteers." "Nobody ever does," Bill said sadly, committing to the bit. A tiny girl with frosting on her face approached them. "Where are your puppets?" Molly and Bill exchanged glances. The wagon sat empty between them. "They're very shy," Molly said. "Yeah," Bill added, warming to the improvisation. "Invisible puppets. Very exclusive. Very avant-garde." The children stared at them with the unsettling intensity only eight-year-olds could muster. "This is going great," Bill muttered.