Molly tapped a pen against the laminated diagram, which smelled faintly of orange crayon. The interior of their surveillance van, usually a den of serious criminal intent, currently felt more like a mobile daycare. “Okay, run it back,” she said, her voice tight. “Point of entry is the rear gate, left unlocked by the caterer’s assistant at 13:45. The parents will be fully engaged by ‘Magician Mike’ from 14:00 to 14:15. That’s our window for payload acquisition.” Bill, who was trying to balance a stale donut on his knee, looked up. “Payload acquisition? You mean the presents? Do you think there’ll be the new Ultra-Force 5000 laser tag set? I saw a commercial.” “We’re not ‘acquiring’ a specific toy, Bill, we’re lifting the entire stock. Twenty, maybe twenty-five wrapped units. Focus on the mission.” Molly pointed to a crudely drawn rectangle labeled ‘PRESENT TABLE.’ “I’ll create a diversion near the punch bowl. You grab the bags and exfiltrate through the hedge maze.” “Hedge maze?” Bill’s eyes lit up. “I love hedge mazes! Do you think it’s the kind with a minotaur statue in the middle?” “There is no minotaur, Bill. It’s a six-year-old’s birthday party, not the Labyrinth of Crete.” Molly rubbed her temples. “Did you bring the gear? The graphite powder, the tension wrenches?” “Better,” Bill said, beaming. He reached into his jacket and produced a bright pink party blower. When he unfurled it, a paper cascade of tiny cartoon unicorns shot out. “For auditory misdirection. Very disorienting.” Molly stared at the flimsy noisemaker. “That’s your diversion? A kazoo with a feather on it?” “It’s not a kazoo, it’s a celebration blower. And it’s distracting. You can’t plan a heist without a little razzle-dazzle.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Our job is to be the opposite of razzle-dazzle. We’re supposed to be shadows, whispers, a fleeting chill down the spine of a suburban homeowner.” “Fine,” Bill sighed, putting the blower away. “No razzle-dazzle. But are we at least allowed to have some of the cake after? I’m hoping for chocolate fudge with little toy soldiers on it.” Molly dropped her head onto the steering wheel with a soft thud. “We’re stealing from a child, Bill. Let’s try to maintain a sliver of professional integrity.” “Right, right. Professional.” He paused, then leaned in conspiratorially. “So, is it a definite yes on the cake?”