“The plan is solid,” Molly whispered, peering through the bushes. “In through the back gate while the magician’s doing his ‘amazing’ balloon animal routine. The kids will be hypnotized.” “Hypnotized by balloon poodles?” Bill scoffed. “Molly, have you met a child? They’re little tornadoes of pure chaos. One of them is going to spot me, ask for a piggyback ride, and blow our entire operation.” “That’s why you’re the distraction,” she hissed. “You’re going to start a conga line.” “A conga line? Absolutely not. I have a bad knee and less rhythm than a filing cabinet.” “Fine, you can do the chicken dance.” “The chicken dance is worse! It’s humiliating.” “It’s a children’s birthday party, Bill, not the Met Gala. Humiliation is the price of admission. Now, the presents are on the table by the bouncy castle. We grab as many as we can carry and bolt.” “And what about the piñata? That thing’s a security risk. One good whack and it’s a hail of candy shrapnel.” “We avoid the piñata zone. It’s a no-fly zone. Now, are you ready or do I have to find a new partner?” Bill sighed. “Fine. But if I’m doing the chicken dance, I’m keeping at least one of the Lego sets for myself.”