The blueprints, which were in fact a crudely drawn napkin from a greasy spoon, lay spread out across the hood of their rusting sedan. Bill traced a line with a sausage-like finger, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. “Right,” he grunted, tapping a large circle labelled ‘Bouncy Castle’. “The primary objective is the gift pile. See, it’s here, adjacent to the refreshment table. High visibility, but minimal security.” Molly, meanwhile, was adjusting a bright red clown nose that sat precariously on her own. “Minimal security? Bill, that’s a six-year-old’s birthday party. The security is a sugar-fueled swarm of tiny judgmental humans. They’ll spot us a mile away. We need a distraction.” Bill looked up from his napkin, his eyes wide with a sudden, terrible idea. “I’ve got just the thing. I call it ‘The Great Balloon Animal Catastrophe’.” Molly stared at him, a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching in disdain. “Please tell me that doesn’t involve you attempting to make a balloon poodle. The last time you tried that, you nearly took out Mrs. Gable’s prize-winning begonias.” “It’s better,” Bill insisted, puffing out his chest. “It’s not one animal. It’s a hundred. A hundred poorly inflated, half-tied balloons that I will ‘accidentally’ release in the vicinity of the bouncy castle. Chaos, Molly. Beautiful, gift-stealing chaos.” She had to admit, the image of a hundred tiny balloons drifting aimlessly while a pack of children chased them like puppies was appealing. “Fine. But you’re on clean-up duty. If I find a single piece of balloon latex stuck to my new boots, the heist is off and I’m using your share of the proceeds to buy a professional cleaner.” Bill waved a dismissive hand. “Details, details. Now, our entry point. I was thinking the back gate by the compost bin.” “Too obvious,” Molly countered, leaning closer to the map. “No, we go in through the front. Boldness, Bill. We walk right in like we’re supposed to be there. You, with your balloon disaster, and me with…” She paused, pulling a large, gift-wrapped box from the back seat. “…this.” Bill squinted at the box. “What is it?” “It’s a diversion,” she said, patting the shiny paper. “A beautifully wrapped, tantalizingly large box that I will ‘accidentally’ leave by the presents. It’s empty, of course, but it will draw their eyes while we’re loading up the real haul.” A slow grin spread across Bill’s face. “Molly, you’re a genius.” “I know,” she said, checking her reflection in the car’s side mirror and adjusting the clown nose one last time. “Now, let’s go ruin a birthday. Try not to get glitter on the upholstery.”