Bill checked his watch, sweat beading on his upper lip. Molly crouched low behind the hedge, scanning the sun-drenched walled fortress of a backyard. It was a biome of glitter, loud music, and cheese puffs. "Bill, perimeter secure. We need a breach plan that doesn't involve a helicopter." Bill adjusted his ski mask, looking less like a master thief and more like a confused dad at a BBQ. "We just need to look like outside caterers. That's the classic move." "We don't have catering credentials, Bill. We have a rusty toolbox and a stolen clown nose." "I could polish that clown nose. It adds character. It signals 'fun'." "Character doesn't stop a seven-year-old from throwing mud." "Then we wait for the obligatory sugar crash nap. It’s the only time children operate on logic." "The parents will be drunk on sparkling wine. They'll let anything in." "Are you volunteering for the reconnaissance? You look harmless enough, especially with that nose." "Harmless. That's me. Just another guy looking for the bathroom." "Go get the goods. I'll watch the cake for the twins." "What if they offer me a slice?" "Then we tell them it's gluten-free. We've got time, Bill. We've got time."