Molly adjusted the tactical binoculars, grimacing as the humid suburban air condensed on the lenses. Through the scope, the Target sat nestled behind a bounce castle, a fortress of neon walls and shrieking toddlers. Below, the parents gathered parcels wrapped in suspiciously shiny paper, the cardboard walls of their homes looking soft and unguarded. Bill stood slumped against the rusted bumper of their sedan, guarding a gym bag stuffed with non-lethal tools. He tossed a handful of glittering confetti he’d pilfered from a bowl on the sidewalk into his mouth, crunching loudly in the quiet. "They’ve got four hundred presents," Bill said. "Enough to set up a cartel in Togo." Molly lowered the glasses and checked the digital perimeter map on her wrist, ignoring the birthday clown staggering toward them with a slide whistle. Bill stared at the man, assessing the threat level, and then at the clown’s oversized shoes, which seemed to vanish inside the balloons. "We wait for the noise," Molly whispered. "Nobody moves."