"You’re absolutely positive the payout justifies this profound level of indignity?" Bill asked, tightening his shoelaces. "It’s a toddler birthday on the Upper East Side," Molly said, checking her watch. "The registry literally has a pony listed. An actual pony, Bill." "What about the civilian witnesses?" "Twenty children under four with attention spans of goldfish. We infiltrate as entertainment. You’re Bippo the Sad Clown, I’m Princess Sparklefists the Merciless." "I specifically told you last week that I don’t do balloon animals." "You’ll juggle. Terribly. While I stuff decorative sacks with unopened gaming consoles." "What’s the security situation?" "One half-blind grandpa and a deflating bounce house. The real danger is the mob mentality immediately post-cake cutting." "Primary escape route?" "Through the bouncy castle, over the vinyl fence, into the alley. I already cut the blower motor." "Contingency if we’re caught?" "Immediate hysterical tears. Blame childhood trauma. They’ll offer therapy vouchers, not handcuffs." "Why do I specifically have to wear the red nose?" "Because you’ve got the natural temperament for existential dread. The red really suits you." "I genuinely hate you with every fiber of my being right now." "Grab the gift sacks. The piñata drops in five minutes."