Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the sticky diner table and tapped her finger on a crude rectangle labeled BOUNCE HOUSE in red crayon. "Alright, Bill, listen up. The party starts at two. We've got a forty-five minute window between the piñata and the cake ceremony to grab the presents and get out clean." Bill squinted at the map, turning it sideways. "Why is everything drawn in crayon?" "Because I stole the map from the birthday boy's older sister. She's nine. Remarkably detailed work, actually. She even marked the location of the cooler with the juice boxes." "We're robbing a six-year-old's birthday party, Molly." "We're robbing fourteen six-year-olds' parents, technically. Do you know what kind of gifts show up to these things now? We're talking brand-name tablets, designer sneakers, those little electric cars kids drive around in. Last year Tommy Marino got a drone. A drone, Bill. The kid still eats glue." Bill rubbed his temples. "And the security?" "One dad who volunteers to man the grill. He'll be on his fourth beer by two-thirty. Oh, and there's a clown." "A clown." "Goes by Sprinkles. He does balloon animals and light magic. Honestly, he might be our biggest obstacle. I've seen his work. He commands the attention of every child in a thirty-foot radius. If he spots us near the gift table, he could redirect the whole herd." "So what's the plan for Sprinkles?" "You're going to distract him." "Absolutely not." "Bill, I need you to walk up to Sprinkles and request an elaborate balloon sculpture. Something complex. A giraffe riding a motorcycle. A full-scale replica of the Titanic. Whatever buys me three minutes at the gift table." "And you're just going to walk off with an armful of wrapped presents in broad daylight?" "That's what the uniform is for." Molly reached under the table and pulled out a purple polo shirt with a cartoon kangaroo embroidered on the chest. "Party Palooza Event Staff. I printed the logo myself. I walk in with a clipboard, tell the mom there's been a gift recall, load everything into the van, and we're gone before the candles are lit." "A gift recall? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." "You haven't met this mom. She's been posting about product safety dangers on Facebook for six straight months. She'll practically help me carry the boxes." Bill stared at the crayon map for a long moment. A waitress refilled their coffee without making eye contact. "What about the getaway vehicle?" "Borrowed an ice cream truck. Nothing suspicious about an ice cream truck near a kids' party. Plus it plays music, which covers engine noise." "Does it have ice cream in it?" "Twelve flavors. We can sell them at the flea market after we fence the gifts." Bill picked up the crayon map and examined the nine-year-old's meticulous floor plan one more time. "I want sixty percent." Molly grinned and slid a purple polo across the table. "You'll get fifty and a juice box. Now let's go rob some children."