The van smelled like stale coffee and regret, which Molly had come to associate with every job Bill dragged her into. She peered through binoculars at the suburban house across the street, where a inflatable bounce castle swayed ominously in the afternoon breeze like a primary-colored tumor growing from the manicured lawn. "Run it by me again," she said, not lowering the binoculars. "Because I want to make sure I understand exactly how far we've fallen." Bill smoothed out the hand-drawn map on the dashboard. He'd used crayons, which Molly found either ironically appropriate or deeply concerning. "Okay, so the birthday boy is turning seven. His parents are loaded. We're talking surgeon dad, lawyer mom. These gifts aren't going to be socks and underwear, Molly. We're looking at gaming consoles, tablets, probably some of those robot dogs that cost more than my car." "Everything costs more than your car, Bill." He ignored her. "Entry point is the sliding glass door on the east side. The presents are staged in the dining room, away from the main party action in the backyard. We slip in during the magic show, grab what we can carry, and we're out before anyone notices." Molly finally lowered the binoculars and turned to face her partner. Bill wore his serious heist face, which unfortunately looked identical to his confused-by-a-restaurant-menu face. She'd known him for fifteen years, and somehow he still managed to surprise her with the depth of his terrible ideas. "There are going to be thirty children in that backyard." "Witnesses make terrible witnesses when they're hopped up on sugar and focused on a man pulling scarves from his sleeve." "And their parents?" "Drinking wine and questioning their life choices. Trust me, I've been to these things. The adults check out mentally around hour two. We're hitting at hour three. They'll be practically comatose." Molly rubbed her temples. Six months ago, they'd been planning a job on a diamond exchange. Granted, that had fallen through spectacularly when Bill accidentally triggered the alarm by sneezing, but at least it had dignity. Now she was sitting in a rust-bucket van, watching a woman in yoga pants carry a cake shaped like a dinosaur into a house they were about to burgle. "The getaway route?" she asked, because apparently she was actually considering this. Bill's face lit up like Christmas morning, which was painfully ironic given their target. He traced a crayon line through the neighborhood streets with his finger. "Three blocks to the highway on-ramp. I've timed it. Four minutes if we hit the lights right." "And if we don't?" "Then we'll be stuck in traffic next to a minivan full of the kids whose birthday we just ruined." Molly stared at him for a long moment. The bounce castle continued its hypnotic swaying. Somewhere inside that house, a seven-year-old was about to have the worst birthday of his young life. She reached for her black gloves. "I want sixty percent."