Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the sticky diner table. "So the bouncy castle is here, and the present table is here, right next to the clown." "I hate clowns," Bill muttered. "Everyone hates clowns, Bill. Focus. We go in at exactly two-fifteen, right when they bring out the cake." "Why two-fifteen?" "Because that's when every kid in that backyard will be hypnotized by sugar. It's science." "And the parents?" "Wine drunk by two. Trust me, it's a seven-year-old's birthday in the suburbs. Those moms started at noon." "What's our cover?" "You're a balloon artist named Twisty Pete." "I don't know how to make balloon animals." "Then learn, Bill. We've got three hours. There's tutorials online." "Fine. What about you?" "I'm the face painter. Nobody questions the face painter." "This feels wrong, Molly. They're kids." "They're rich kids, Bill. One of those presents is a genuine Rolex for a seven-year-old. A Rolex." "That's obscene." "Exactly. We're practically Robin Hood." "Robin Hood gave to the poor." "We are the poor, Bill." "Fair point. I'll get the balloon pump." "That's the spirit."