"The blueprints are drawn in crayon, Bill. It’s insulting." "Strategic ambiguity, Molly. It keeps the enemy guessing. Plus, I think the green is a very nice representation of the lawn." "The lawn is a patch of dead grass in the suburbs, Bill. It is not a tactical terrain map. Look at the guard rotation." Bill squinted at the drawing, tapping a stick of charcoal against the dashboard of their parked van. "You mean the dog?" "I mean the seven-year-olds. They’re hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup and adrenaline. They’re unpredictable. One of them starts crying, the whole operation goes sideways." "So, we wait for the distraction?" Bill asked, leaning back. "What's the play? The ice cream truck?" "Better. The magician. We have a three-minute window between the 'sawing the lady in half' bit and the live rabbit reveal. That’s when the parents put down the cameras." "And the target?" "The pile. It’s in the corner by the fireplace. Estimation is twenty, maybe twenty-five boxes. High-end LEGO, a couple of dolls that cost more than our rent, and what looks like a gaming console." "We hit the console first?" "No, you amateur. We grab the bulk. The console is small; we need volume to make this worth the gas money. You grab the wrapping paper station, I’ll secure the gifts." "I have a question about the Clown." Molly groaned, rubbing her temples. "What about him?" "His shoes. They’re size twenty. How does he drive? If we need to make a quick exit and he tries to follow us to the van, does he have a special pedal extension?" "Focus, Bill! The Clown is a non-issue unless he comes at us with a balloon animal. If he does, pop it. The sound will disorient the hostages." "The kids?" "They are not hostages, Bill. They are collateral obstacles. Do not look them in the eye. If you make eye contact, they’ll ask you your name, and then you’re stuck helping them build a castle while I’m dragging a fifty-pound sack of Barbies to the getaway car." "Right. No eye contact. Check. What about the cake?" "We leave the cake." "But it had sprinkles, Molly. Rainbow sprinkles." "If you stop to eat cake, I am leaving you there. You will have to explain to the police why you are wearing a ski mask in a room full of six-year-olds. They won’t send you to jail, Bill. They’ll send you to therapy." "Fine. No cake. Just the presents." "Check your gear. Do you have the bag?" "Extra-large duffel. Reusable. We’re eco-friendly bandits." "Good. And the diversions?" "I got the whoopee cushion and the glitter bomb." "Glitter is dangerous, Bill. That stuff stays in your skin for weeks. It’s forensic evidence." "It adds a little pizzazz to the getaway! Now, look. The magician is pulling a coin out of an ear. That’s the signal." Molly adjusted her ski mask, staring intensely at the suburban house. "Remember, we walk in, we take the loot, we walk out. No heroes, no tears, no balloon animals." "Got it. Operation Birthday Bash is a go." "Move out. And Bill?" "Yeah?" "If you steal a piece of pizza on the way out, I want half."