Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the sticky diner table, smoothing out the crayon-scribbled edges she'd lifted from the birthday boy's backpack earlier that morning. The layout of the Henderson house was crude but serviceable, complete with a lopsided rectangle labeled PRESENTS HERE in green marker. She tapped it twice with a bitten fingernail. Bill leaned forward, squinting through his reading glasses, which were held together at the bridge with electrical tape. He smelled like cheap aftershave and regret. A french fry dangled from his lip as he studied the diagram, rotating it twice before realizing he'd had it upside down. "The bouncy castle is a problem," Molly said. Bill nodded slowly, the fry bobbing. He'd once been foiled by an inflatable obstacle before, during the infamous Tulsa incident, and the memory still haunted him. "We go in through the garage during cake time," she continued. "Every kid and parent will be in the backyard singing. We grab the gifts, load the van, gone in four minutes." "What about the dog?" "Goldendoodle. Hypoallergenic. Friendly to a fault." Bill finally ate the fry and grinned. The plan was beautiful in its simplicity, criminal in its pettiness, and absolutely worthy of their particular talents.