Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the sticky diner table, shoving aside a ketchup bottle and what appeared to be a fossilized onion ring. The map was meticulous, color-coded, and featured several small stickers of dinosaurs that she insisted were tactical markers. "Okay, here's the situation," she said, tapping a brontosaurus that marked the front entrance. "The Hendersons' backyard. Party starts at two. We've got approximately fifteen six-year-olds, two bouncy castles, and a piñata shaped like a unicorn." Bill leaned forward, squinting. "Why is there a skull and crossbones by the garage?" "That's where they keep the dog. Rottweiler. Name's Sprinkles." "Of course it is." "Focus, Bill. The presents will be on a folding table near the east fence, right next to the juice boxes. Based on the guest list I intercepted from the Evite, we're looking at roughly thirty wrapped packages. Conservative street value: maybe four hundred bucks in Lego sets and gift cards to Target." Bill rubbed his temples. He had once broken into a casino vault in Monaco. He had rappelled down an elevator shaft in Dubai wearing nothing but a wetsuit and confidence. Now he was sitting in a Waffle House planning a heist on a first grader's birthday party. "Molly, I have to ask again. Why are we doing this?" "Because Mrs. Henderson reported my hedges to the HOA, Bill. She said they were unsightly. My hedges. Which I sculpted into a tasteful series of woodland creatures." "Right, the vendetta hedges. I remember now." "This isn't just about revenge. It's about justice." Molly pulled out a second sheet of paper. "Now, I'll go in disguised as a party entertainer. I rented a clown costume." "You're terrified of clowns." "I'm terrified of other clowns. I'll be fine as one myself. That's science." "That is absolutely not science." "While I'm distracting the kids with balloon animals, you come in through the side gate, load the presents into the wagon, and wheel them out to the van." Bill stared at her. "A wagon." "A Radio Flyer. Red. Classic. No one suspects a little red wagon. It's the most innocent vehicle on earth." "What about the rottweiler?" "I've got a pound and a half of organic bacon in my purse right now. Sprinkles won't be a problem." Bill sat back and looked at the ceiling, contemplating every choice that had led him to this moment. The years of training. The international warrants. The very expensive set of titanium lockpicks he'd ordered from Switzerland. All of it funneling down to stealing a pile of presents wrapped in Paw Patrol paper from a group of children hopped up on sheet cake. "Fine," he said. "But I want it on the record that this is beneath us." "Noted. Now, do you want to hear my contingency plan for if the face painter turns hostile?" He absolutely did not, but she was already talking, and there was no stopping Molly when hedges were at stake.