Molly flattened the blueprint of the suburban family home against the dashboard, her brow furrowed in concentration. Bill, meanwhile, was trying to discreetly eat a chocolate bar he’d shoplifted from the gas station. “The target is the ‘Little Timmy’s 5th Birthday’ party,” Molly stated, tapping a circled area on the paper. “Ingress point is the side gate, notoriously left unlatched according to my surveillance.” “Surveillance?” Bill mumbled through a mouthful of nougat. “You drove past once.” “It was a tactical drive-by. Now, the presents will be in the living room, likely in a designated ‘present pile’ formation. It’s a soft target, Bill. A literal pile of wrapped merchandise.” Bill swallowed, his expression skeptical. “You’re talking about a party for five-year-olds, Molls. That’s not a heist, that’s a mugging. There’ll be juice boxes. And clowns.” “There are no clowns,” Molly snapped. “The invitation said ‘magician,’ and he’s probably a guy who can pull a foam rabbit out of a hat. Our biggest obstacle is a six-year-old in a sparkly cape. We can handle that.” “I’m not so sure. Kids are unpredictable. One of them could latch onto my leg and start crying about a missing stuffed animal. I have a very punchable face, I’ll be the prime suspect.” “Your face is fine,” Molly lied. “You’ll be on distraction duty. While I’m securing the payload, you need to create a diversion.” “What kind of diversion?” Bill asked, a glimmer of an idea in his eye. “I brought whoopee cushions.” Molly sighed, a long, suffering sound. “No, Bill. We are professionals. We are not deploying whoopee cushions. You’re going to stand near the bouncy castle and pretend you’ve lost contact with your pet squirrel.” “A squirrel?” “Yes. A squirrel named Bartholomew. You’ll be crying, ‘Bartholomew? Bartholomew, where are you?’ It’s emotionally devastating. No parent can ignore a grown man crying for a lost rodent.” Bill considered this. “I can do that. I’m a very good crier. Remember the final season of that baking show?” He wiped a fake tear from his cheek. “It’s a gift.” “Good. Get in character. We move in five. Remember the objective: all presents, no survivors.” “Molly, we’re not killing anyone.” “I mean no stuffed animal survivors, Bill. Keep up.” She shoved the blueprint at him. “Now, where did I put the tranquilizer darts?”