The minivan smelled like stale chicken nuggets and broken dreams. Molly pressed her binoculars against the window, fogging up the glass as she watched the parade of parents carrying wrapped boxes into the suburban fortress known as 47 Maple Lane. Bill fidgeted with his fake mustache in the rearview mirror. It was the kind of mustache that screamed either children's entertainer or someone who shouldn't be within five hundred feet of a school. Perfect for their purposes. "That's the fourteenth present in the last twenty minutes," Molly announced, scribbling in her notebook. "These kids are making out like bandits. Unlike us, who are actual bandits and currently making out with nothing." "Remind me again why we're robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party?" Molly lowered the binoculars and fixed him with a stare that could curdle milk. "Because, Bill, little Timmy Henderson's father is Marcus Henderson. Ring any bells?" Bill's face remained magnificently blank. "Marcus Henderson. The man who fired me from Henderson's Diamond Emporium for allegedly stealing a sapphire necklace." "Did you steal it?" "That's not the point. The point is that man owes me, and I intend to collect through his son's birthday presents. Call it severance pay with interest." Bill scratched his head, disturbing his disguise. They were dressed as party entertainers, complete with rainbow suspenders and shirts advertising Magic Mike's Magnificent Birthday Bash. The real Magic Mike was currently enjoying an all-expenses-paid trip to a spa three towns over, courtesy of a gift certificate Molly had won in a raffle she'd rigged. "The security seems pretty tight for a kid's party," Bill observed. "I count at least fifteen parents in there. That's thirty eyeballs, Molly." "Parents at children's parties are the least observant people on the planet. They're running on two hours of sleep and boxed wine. We could waltz in wearing ski masks and they'd just ask if we're with the catering company." She pulled out a crumpled flyer and smoothed it against the dashboard. The advertisement promised magic tricks, balloon animals, and something called the Happy Fun Time Dance Explosion. "Do you actually know any magic tricks?" Bill asked. "I can make myself disappear when the check comes. That's magic enough for our purposes." The plan was elegant in its simplicity. They would enter as entertainers, distract the sugar-crazed children with mediocre balloon animals, then load the presents into their van during the cake-cutting ceremony. By the time anyone noticed the missing gifts, they'd be three counties away, pawning whatever electronics and gift cards they could find. Bill adjusted his rainbow suspenders with the gravity of a man preparing for battle. "What if there's a real entertainer scheduled?" "Already handled. Magic Mike sends his regrets due to a sudden case of food poisoning." "You poisoned a children's entertainer?" "Relax. Laxatives aren't poison. They're just aggressive encouragement to stay near a bathroom." Bill nodded slowly, accepting this logic the way he accepted most of Molly's plans.