Molly pressed her face against the fence, watching balloons bob in the afternoon breeze. "Are you absolutely certain about this?" Bill adjusted his fake mustache nervously. "It's the Henderson kid. Trust me, those presents are loaded." "We're robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party." Molly pulled out binoculars. "Eight-year-old. And yes." "This feels low, even for us." "Remember the yacht job?" She turned to face him. "We need seed money." Bill sighed heavily. "What's the plan?" "I go in as the balloon artist. You're my assistant." "I don't know anything about balloon animals." "Neither do I." Molly grinned. "That's why we'll be terrible at it. While everyone's distracted by our incompetence, you slip inside and grab the haul." "What if there's a real balloon artist?" "Then we're parents who got the address wrong." Bill rubbed his temples. "We're going to jail." "We're going to Bermuda." Molly handed him a bag of uninflated balloons. "Now practice looking artistic." He pulled one out, stared at it helplessly, then looked at Molly. "We're definitely going to jail," he repeated.