Molly pressed her face against the fence, peering at the balloon-covered backyard. "Twenty-three presents. I counted twice." "This feels wrong," Bill muttered, adjusting his fake mustache. "Wrong? We're stealing from capitalist excess! Those kids don't need fifteen Barbies each." "They're six-year-olds, Mol." She spun around, nearly poking his eye with her ponytail. "And we're broke thirty-year-olds. The universe is all about balance." Bill sighed heavily. "What's the plan?" "You create a distraction. I'll grab the loot." "What kind of distraction?" Molly grinned wickedly. "Remember that clown costume from the Vegas job?" "Absolutely not. Children are terrified of clowns now. It's a whole thing." "Fine. Then juggle something. Do a cartwheel. Kids love cartwheels." "I tore my ACL doing reconnaissance at that trampoline park!" "That was your own fault for showing off." Molly pulled bolt cutters from her bag. "Ready?" Bill stared at the innocent birthday banner flapping in the breeze. "My therapist is going to have a field day with this." "Bill, focus. On three. One, two—" A pinata exploded in the yard, and chaos erupted. "Or now works," Molly said, vaulting the fence.