“Entry point is the back gate at 1400 hours,” Molly whispered, pointing at a crudely drawn map of a suburban backyard. “That’s when the piñata bursts. Maximum chaos.” Bill squinted. “Maximum screaming children, you mean. What about the ‘Happy Birthday’ song? That’s a sonic deterrent.” “I’ll initiate ‘Operation Sticky Fingers’,” she said, ignoring him. “A strategic spill of the fruit punch. Creates a hazardous terrain, slows any pursuit.” “Pursuit from who? The six-year-old in the superhero cape?” “You focus on the objective, Bill. The presents.” “They’re wrapped in unicorn paper, Molly. And I saw one box had a picture of a drum set on it. A *drum set*. We’re not cat burglars, we’re glorified gift snatchers.” Molly’s eyes gleamed. “The squeaky wheel gets the grease, Bill. And the loud toy gets the big score. Now, practice your ‘concerned parent’ face. We go in dark.”