Molly pressed her back against the inflatable bounce house, its rubbery surface squeaking against her leather jacket. Through the chain-link fence, she could see the mountain of wrapped presents stacked beneath a pink and purple unicorn banner. Bill crouched beside her, consulting what appeared to be a hand-drawn map on a napkin. The suburban backyard was a fortress of festivities. Balloons bobbed from every available surface, and a clown was performing increasingly dangerous juggling tricks near the snack table. At least twenty screaming children ran in chaotic patterns across the lawn, hopped up on what Molly assumed was enough sugar to fuel a rocket launch. Bill adjusted his sunglasses and studied the scene with the intensity of a general surveying a battlefield. "The presents are exposed," Bill whispered. "We go in during the piñata." "That's your plan? Just waltz in during the piñata?" "Maximum distraction. Everyone'll be watching the candy scramble." Molly shook her head. The whole operation felt beneath her skill set. Last month she had lifted a Rembrandt from a private collection. Now she was casing a seven-year-old's birthday party because Bill's gambling debts had gotten creative. "Remind me again why we're stealing from children," Molly said. "One of those boxes contains a vintage mint-condition Dragon Master action figure. The collector's paying fifteen grand." "Fifteen thousand dollars?" "Limited edition. Only fifty made. The birthday girl's weird uncle bought it, didn't realize what he had." A mother emerged from the house carrying an enormous sheet cake, and the children converged like a swarm of locusts. Bill tensed, ready to move, but Molly grabbed his arm. "Wait. Which present is it?" Bill consulted his napkin again, squinting at his own handwriting. "Blue wrapping paper. Silver bow." Molly scanned the present pile. Her heart sank. "Bill. There are eleven blue presents with silver bows." Bill's confident expression crumbled. He looked at the pile, then at his napkin, then back at the pile. His mouth opened and closed like a confused goldfish. "We'll take them all," Bill declared. "Are you insane? We can't carry eleven presents. Someone will definitely notice." Before Bill could respond, the piñata emerged, a massive unicorn suspended from the oak tree. The children screamed with primal delight. A blindfolded boy was handed a baseball bat that seemed far too large for the task. "Now or never," Bill said, and before Molly could stop him, he was over the fence. She watched in horror as Bill sprinted across the lawn in a low crouch, looking like a deranged crab. He reached the present table just as the piñata exploded, and candy rained down upon the shrieking masses. Molly sighed deeply and checked her watch. She gave Bill forty-five seconds before this whole thing went sideways. She was already planning their escape route through the neighbor's yard.