The interior of the battered delivery van smelled aggressively of stale coffee and the sort of optimism usually reserved for lottery winners. Molly chewed on her lip, watching a frantic spider navigate the rear-view mirror. She picked at the fabric of her gloves, which were made of that suspiciously expensive, non-porous vinyl that wasn't actually sold in stores. "It’s too quiet," Bill muttered from the passenger seat. He was hunched over a map of the subdivision that had been drawn on the back of a pizza box with a Sharpie. "Suburbia is the most deceptive terrain on the planet. It looks harmless, but a hamster wheel could kill you." "The objective is silent, Bill," Molly said, adjusting her grip on the grapple gun. "We take the loot, we drop the loot, we vanish. Like smoke." "Unless Timmy’s parents heard us start the engine," Bill countered, tapping the pencil against the pizza box. "Suburban hearing is a survival adaptation. They hear a car door slam at two miles away." "Then we wear earplugs." Molly looked out the window at the house next door. It was manicured to the point of artificiality. "Target house: 1427 Pine Valley Drive. The gathering is happening in the backyard. Visual confirmation: three adults and twelve children. DANGER is a highly probable outcome of interfering with these specific children." "Why the sudden focus on danger?" Bill asked. He pushed a stray carrot stick off his knee. "Yesterday you wanted to do a frontal assault." "I was hungover, Bill. And I was basing it on heist movies. This is a heist in the real world. Real world physics apply. Real world inertia applies. We cannot just kick the gate down like in *Oceans Eleven*. We must slide the envelope." She opened the glove compartment, staring at a stack of flyers for a local car wash. "Bill. The plan." "Right, the plan. We enter through the doggy door. The Golden Retriever is sleeping. I checked. He snorts like a diesel engine, so he’s out." "And the presents?" "The presents are in the garage," Bill said, drawing a squiggly line on the box. "The parents are in the house. The kids are playing tag. We breach the garage, bag the gift mountain, and exit. Simple." "Unless the grandma arrives," Molly warned. "Grandma brings wine, not presents. We can take the wine, trade it for presents?" Bill’s eyes lit up. "Now *that* sounds like a caper." "I said no wine. It creates liabilities. We are looking strictly for cardboard boxes and shiny tape." Molly adjusted the strap of her black duffel bag. "Are you ready to be bad boys?" Bill slapped his knees and grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. "Always." "Get in the back. I’m going around the back." She started the car, and the engine let out a mournful groan. "Go, go, go." "Wait," Bill said, grabbing her ankle. "Bill?" "What now, Bill?" "Don't forget the noise canceling headphones. I can’t dance if I can’t hear the beat."