The stale air inside the battered white van smelled faintly of lemon Pledge and desperation, a scent Molly associated with crimes that had gone wrong or simply hadn't happened yet. She sat in the driver's seat, hunched over a tablet displaying a tactical map of a suburban cul-de-sac, her face illuminated only by the pale blue glow of the screen. It wasn't a map of a federal reserve or a diamond exchange; it was a subdivision. Specifically, the house with the inflatable pirate ship overlooking the pond. Bill was crammed into the passenger seat, his knees threatening to punch through the floorboards. He looked ridiculous, wearing a bespoke tuxedo that had clearly seen better days, his face obscured by a ski mask that made him look like a villain in a low-budget cartoon. "You have to admire the security," Bill grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow. "They use the driveway gates. It’s fancy." "That’s a remote-controlled gate, Bill," Molly said, zooming in on the back fence. "And if the batteries run out, they just unlock it with a key under the mat. It’s not high tech; it’s just gated. And we brought the bolt cutters, remember?" "Yes, but the lock looks rusty," Bill insisted, tapping the glass. "Aesthetic integrity is important to me." "The aesthetic integrity of a five-year-old's party favors is paramount. Now, stop talking and check the ballast weights." "I didn't bring weights." Bill patted the heavy duffel bag beside him. "I brought the snacks." "It’s not a snack run, Bill. It’s a heist. If we jump the fence, we sink." "Then I’ll go in the pool. It’s inflatable, right?" "Bill, the pool is inflated. If I drop you in, you sink, and I have to pull a grown man out of a kiddie pool." Molly sighed, zooming in on the backyard. Three plastic flamingos guarded the lawn, and a bouncy castle bobbed rhythmically in the breeze, threatening to blow away with the next gust. "The target is the party favors," she said, narrowing her eyes at the screen. "The good ones. Not the plastic gold coins, but the branded tote bags." "Why?" Bill asked, scratching his nose behind the mask. "Do they contain cash? Is there a microchip?" "No, it’s a giant sneak peek for the toy store opening next week," Molly said, her voice filled with venom. "Stealing them is my patriotic duty. Now, shut up and check the laser pointer." "I don't have a laser pointer." Bill patted his pockets. "The distraction. The one with the power. If the guard dog catches us, the laser pointer confuses him." "I thought we were planting a smoke bomb." "Smoke bombs are illegal. We're amateurs. I'll use a high-powered LED flashlight. It mimics a UFO." Bill fell silent for a moment, the engine of the van idling softly as the drizzle slicked the windows. "Do you think Timmy will miss them?" "Timmy is going to be too distracted by the cake to notice his childhood is being industrial-strength vacuumed out of his life," Molly said. "Plan is still go at 1400 hours?" "Go at 1400," Bill confirmed, cracking his knuckles. "But if we have to run, I’m tripping on the lawn gnome." "Fine. Let’s go steal some toys." Molly engaged the gear stick, and the van lurched forward into the drizzle, two low-level criminals on a quest to ruin a birthday.