Molly adjusted her night vision goggles, which were decorated with glitter and cartoon unicorns. She stared at the crude crayon map spread across the dashboard of their unmarked van, currently parked three blocks from the Suburban Hellscape that was Oakwood Lane. The vehicle smelled of stale popcorn, broken dreams, and the vanilla air freshener that had lost its will to live three summers ago. Outside, sprinkler systems arched over chemically-enhanced lawns while SUVs the size of naval destroyers clogged driveways. This was enemy territory, the land of minivans and mandatory fun. Molly had spent three weeks casing the property, memorizing the schedule of the mailman and the precise moment when the birthday boy's mother retreated to the kitchen for her third glass of Chardonnay. She had synchronized their timeline perfectly with the ice cream truck's afternoon route. She checked her watch. The party started in twenty minutes. The afternoon sun beat against the windshield, turning the van into a pressure cooker of bad decisions and worse costumes. "We're going in blind," she whispered, tapping the drawing of a bouncy castle. "The target is six, allergic to peanuts, forty-seven guests." Bill scratched his balding head, confusion creasing his features like an origami swan done by a drunk person. He was dressed in a full clown suit, complete with oversized shoes that squeaked with every shift of his weight. The polyester itched against his thighs, and the red nose honked mournfully when he sighed. He looked like a man who had made several consecutive poor life choices, which was accurate. His greasepaint smile was already melting in the July heat, giving him the appearance of a sad mime having an existential crisis. He shifted again, the fabric riding up uncomfortably. He tugged at the suspenders that were currently performing a surgical procedure on his kidneys. The van's suspension groaned as he shifted his weight toward the door. "Why aren't we hitting Fifth Street? They got diamonds. Kid's got LEGOs?" "The LEGO Millennium Falcon," Molly said, checking her grappling hook. "Retired set. Worth three grand. Plus a PS5 and Paw Patrol Tower." Bill adjusted his rainbow wig, which kept sliding down over his left eyebrow like a technicolor avalanche. He wiped sweat from his white cheek paint. "Seems undignified." "Since when did you grow a conscience?" "Since I put these on," Bill said, gesturing to his baggy trousers. "They're chafing. I don't like stealing from kids." "We're not stealing from kid," Molly said, loading her utility belt with modified party favors that doubled as lockpicks. "We're stealing from parents. Kid cries twenty minutes, gets ice cream. Redistributing wealth from people who rent petting zoos." Bill's plastic flower squirted water onto his oversized shoe. "If a goat bites me, you're driving." "Deal," Molly said, pulling up her ski mask with cat ears. "Phase one: infiltrate. Distract with balloon animals while I rappel from oak tree. Hit the gifts during Happy Birthday." "What about parents?" "Drone with confetti cannons. Chaos is our ally." Bill stood, his shoes squeaking a betrayal sonata against the van's metal floor. He squared his shoulders, adjusting the oversized bow tie that spun like a helicopter blade. The afternoon heat made the face paint smell like crayons left in a car. "You're enjoying this." "Bill, I spent three years planning casino vaults. This job has napping security guards and sleeping German Shepherd." "You're twisted." "And you're wearing face paint. Let's go steal some Fisher-Price." Molly checked her watch again. Outside, a piñata hung like a colorful target waiting for destruction. The sound of distant laughter and popping balloons drifted through the open windows.