Molly adjusted her fake mustache in the rearview mirror while Bill studied the blueprint of the community center, which was actually just a napkin with crayon drawings from a previous reconnaissance mission involving his nephew. The sounds of shrieking children and pop music filtered through the closed car windows. Streamers decorated the entrance, and a massive balloon arch swayed dangerously in the afternoon breeze. Bill tapped the napkin thoughtfully. His partner had been casing birthday parties for three weeks now, ever since she discovered that wealthy parents in this neighborhood gave obscenely expensive gifts. Last week, someone had gifted a child a actual pony. Molly pulled on her clown wig with practiced ease. They had forty-seven seconds between the cake cutting and the piñata, according to her calculations. "Ready?" Bill asked. "Born ready," Molly replied. They exited the vehicle with exaggerated nonchalance, Bill carrying an enormous empty duffel bag disguised as a magician's prop trunk. A mother passed them on the sidewalk, eyeing their costumes suspiciously. The party room was on the second floor. Bill could already see the present table through the window, practically groaning under the weight of wrapped boxes and gift bags stuffed with tissue paper.