Molly spread the hand-drawn blueprint across the sticky diner table, knocking over a bottle of ketchup in the process. The map showed a suburban backyard in meticulous detail, complete with a bounce house, a balloon arch, and what appeared to be a very aggressive piñata hanging from an oak tree. She had spent three days conducting surveillance from behind a neighbor's hedge, enduring two sprinkler attacks and one unfortunate encounter with a territorial garden gnome. Bill studied the layout while nervously shredding a napkin into confetti. His last job had been lifting wallets at a county fair, and even that had ended with him fleeing from a surprisingly fast grandmother in orthopedic shoes. This felt like a significant escalation. "We go in during cake time," Molly whispered, tapping the garage where the presents would be stashed. "Every kid and parent will be hypnotized by sugar. We'll have four minutes, maybe five." "What about the dog?" Bill asked. "Goldendoodle. Practically an accomplice. I've been feeding him salami through the fence all week." Bill exhaled slowly. Somewhere in his chest, a tiny voice suggested he reconsider his life choices. He ignored it, as usual. "Saturday then," he said. Molly grinned and rolled up the blueprint.