Molly adjusted her binoculars, squinting through the frosting-smeared windshield. "You're telling me the target is a bouncy castle?" "Not the castle itself," Bill said, unfolding a map drawn in crayon. "The presents. They're stacked by the picnic table next to the clown. I've got intel that the birthday boy's grandparents went overboard. We're talking three PlayStations, Molly." "There's only one of you, Bill." "Exactly. That's why we need the diversion." She tapped the diagram where Bill had drawn a stick figure with exaggerated tears. "Your crying routine." Bill shifted, tugging at his too-small overalls. "I still don't see why I have to be the lost child. I'm thirty-four." "You're emotionally stunted, it works. You go in, throw a tantrum about dropped ice cream, and while the parents negotiate with your 'grief,' I rappel down from the oak tree." Bill stared at the tree. It was eight feet tall. "Rappel." "I've got three feet of rope and determination." "That's called falling." Molly checked her utility belt. "Details. The important thing is the goodie bags. I want the goodie bags." "Those contain stickers and juice boxes." "Organic juice boxes, Bill. Six dollars retail." He sighed, examining his prop ice cream cone, carved from soap. "What if they call the cops?" "Deploy the nuclear option." She handed him a whoopee cushion. "Blame the clown. Classic misdirection." "You're a monster." "I'm a professional. Now, code words. If I say 'the piñata is broken,' abort." "What if the piñata actually breaks?" "Grab the candy and run. That's just good business." Bill peered at the five-year-olds. "I see the target. The presents use dinosaur paper." "Raptors?" "T-Rex. Mint condition." He paused. "Molly, are we bad people? We're stealing from children." "We're redistributing wealth from those who can't appreciate it. Does Timmy need four gaming consoles? No. Do I need rent money? Yes." "He's turning six." "I'm turning thirty with an eviction notice. Look, you want out? Fine. But I'm taking the cake." Bill's eyes widened. "There's cake?" "Three tiers. Fondant." "I'm in." "Good. Wipe your nose. You're supposed to be sad, not suspicious." Bill smeared soap across his cheek. "How do I look?" "Like a vict—why are you wearing brass knuckles?" "For intimidation." "You're supposed to be six!" "Six and tough." Molly buried her face in her hands. "Just look vulnerable. If the magician asks you to volunteer, say no. I don't need you disappearing mid-heist." "Yes ma'am." "Let's go steal some Legos."