Molly pressed her binoculars against the fence slats and whispered urgently. "Bill, we've got a problem. They hired a clown." "A clown? Nobody said anything about a clown." "I'm looking right at him. Big red nose. Floppy shoes. The whole nine yards." "This changes everything. Clowns are unpredictable, Molly. They're chaos agents." "I know what clowns are, Bill. I did three years in birthday party reconnaissance." "So what's the play? We abort?" "We don't abort. Those presents aren't going to steal themselves. Little Timmy's getting a PlayStation 5. I saw the wrapping paper." "How can you tell what's inside from the wrapping paper?" "Because I'm a professional, Bill. That's how." "Fine. What about the clown?" "You distract him. Ask for a balloon animal. Something complicated. A giraffe riding a motorcycle." "That's impossible." "Exactly. He'll be so focused on failing that I can slip through the back door and grab the goods." "And if he actually makes it?" "Then we recruit him. Anyone who can twist a giraffe riding a motorcycle is exactly the kind of talent we need." "I hate this plan." "You hate every plan." "And yet I keep showing up."