Molly pressed her face against the chain-link fence, watching the backyard transform into a unicorn-themed nightmare of streamers and balloons. Somewhere beneath that pile of glittering gift wrap lay their target: thirty-seven presents, conservatively estimated at four hundred dollars in Lego sets alone. Bill crouched beside her, consulting a hand-drawn map that looked like it had been sketched by someone having a medical emergency. "The bounce house is our blind spot," Molly whispered. "What about the clown?" "Clowns are irrelevant. They see nothing behind those painted smiles except the crushing weight of their life choices." Bill nodded solemnly, accepting this as gospel truth. He had dressed for the occasion in what he called "suburban camouflage," a polo shirt tucked aggressively into khaki shorts. Molly had opted for her usual black, reasoning that she could claim to be a grieving aunt if questioned. A minivan pulled into the driveway, disgorging children like a clown car in training. Parents followed, carrying presents wrapped in paper so aggressively cheerful it bordered on hostile. Molly checked her watch. They had exactly two hours until cake time, when sugar-induced chaos would provide their perfect cover. She smiled. "Ready?" "Born ready."