The blueprints for the Hendersons’ suburban fortress were spread across the hood of Bill’s battered sedan, which was currently parked three blocks away from the target and smelling faintly of stale coffee and regret. Molly, wearing a bright pink tracksuit that she insisted was ironically camouflaging, tapped a gloved finger on the diagram of the back garden. “Okay, so the primary obstacle is the bouncy castle,” she said, her voice a low, focused hum. “It’s a visual and auditory nightmare. Squeaking, laughing, the whole works. It’s a decoy. A big, inflatable, primary-colored decoy.” Bill peered over his reading glasses, a pair of magnifying lenses perched precariously on his nose. “A decoy? Molly, it’s a bouncy castle. It’s not a security system. It’s a place where small humans expend their sugar-rage.” “No, Bill, you’re not seeing the strategic value,” Molly insisted, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten candy bar she’d procured from the glove box. “While all the parents are staring at the castle, making sure little Timmy doesn’t launch himself into a hedge, the rear patio is a blind spot. The presents are always on the patio. It’s tradition.” Bill sighed, a long-suffering sound that seemed to deflate his entire frame. “And how do you propose we get across that garden unseen? We can’t exactly crawl. The grass is too well-maintained. We’d leave tracks.” “That’s where the piñata comes in,” Molly declared, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. Bill stared at her. “We’re not hitting a piñata.” “We’re not *hitting* it, we’re *being* it. I’ve got a spare donkey costume in the trunk. Two of them. We’ll just trot across the lawn. Nobody questions a piñata. They’re a staple of any good children’s party. We blend in.” “I’m not wearing a donkey costume, Molly. My dignity has already taken a hit this month by agreeing to this ludicrous venture. Stealing from a seven-year-old’s birthday party? It’s a new low, even for us.” “It’s not stealing from a child, Bill, it’s reallocating unearned wealth. Those kids have too much. We’re performing a public service. A redistribution of plush toys and overly complicated Lego sets. Now, are you going to put on the donkey head or do I have to make you the designated ‘candy bag’?” Bill looked from the determined glint in Molly’s eyes to the blueprint, where the patio presents were marked with a skull and crossbones. He grumbled under his breath, the sound of a man who knew he was already beaten. “Fine. But if I get kicked by an overzealous father, I’m blaming you.” “Noted,” Molly chirped, already heading to the trunk. “Now, let’s go rustle us some joy.”