The candlelight flickered against the greasy map of the Simpson residence, highlighting the vulnerabilities in their target's defenses. Bill, wearing a glossy zebra-print tuxedo that seemed to absorb all light rather than reflect it, tapped a grease-stained finger against the diagram with intense focus. "The patio furniture is the most vulnerable spot on the perimeter," Bill announced, his voice filled with conspiratorial gravity. "Two times." "That’s not a security flaw, Bill, that’s feng shui." Molly adjusted her utility belt, the heavy buckle clinking harshly in the quiet room. "And the dog is a Chihuahua. It’s the size of a burrito. I could eat it before it could yip once." "You underestimate the ferocity of a snack-sized terrier." Bill picked up a slice of pepperoni, staring at it like a detonator. "The plan remains: Furniture. We move it. We slip inside. The parents are distracted by the magician, presumably because he’s really bad at pulling rabbits out of hats." "They’ll hear us." Molly looked nervous, fiddling with a bobby pin between her teeth. "It’s a Friday night. The rent-a-clown is loud." "No, they won't. Look at the moon." "It’s a Tuesday night, Bill. It’s not even a full moon. You’re making that up." "The moon is on the other side of the earth. No one can hear us." "I'm ignoring you." Molly checked her watch, the second hand ticking like a countdown. "It’s a boring Tuesday, but it’s the night of the Thomas the Tank Engine extravaganza. The cash is in the envelops." "Noise is temporary. The loot is eternal. Specifically, the Xbox. And the cash in the greeting cards. Kids are hoarders. They shove like fifty dollars into a card that’s taped shut. It’s the American Dream, plain and simple." "We return the cash." "To me." Bill grinned, adjusting his shiny zebra-print vest. "It’s a transaction. I bring the presents, you bring the bag. It’s a partnership." "And the giant bouncing ball in the corner." "The ball is slippery." "Wear shoes. They are inside." "Good point." "The ball is collateral damage. Or a bonus." Bill crossed his arms. "It’s heavy, but it travels well. Throw it out the window, whistle for a getaway driver. We’ll return the ball in a week when nobody is looking." "If we get caught with the ball, the police will think we're terrorists. We don't need that kind of press." Molly looked at the ceiling, counting the seconds until the homeowner came home. "Let the police think what they want." Bill saluted, his sequins catching the light. "Are we mounting the operation?" "We are mounting the operation." She handed him the glass cutter. "But Bill? If you break the window, you clean it. I don't want to explain to the neighbors why their child’s party table is covered in glass." "Consider it varnished." Bill crawled through the pet door, the Velcro strap ripping audibly. "Ready to get rich, Molly."