Molly spread the hand-drawn blueprint across the sticky table of the diner booth, knocking over a bottle of ketchup in the process. The blueprint, rendered in crayon on the back of a Denny's placemat, depicted the Thompson residence in what could charitably be called architectural detail. "Alright, here's the situation," Molly said, tapping the placemat with a french fry. "Little Timmy Thompson turns seven on Saturday. His parents have gone absolutely berserk. We're talking premium gifts from thirty-two confirmed attendees." Bill squinted at the drawing. "Is that a dog or a security camera?" "That's Mrs. Thompson's mother. She sits on the porch. Doesn't move much but sees everything. Think of her as a fleshy surveillance system." "Wonderful. So how do we get past Grandma Panopticon?" "She naps at two. Like clockwork. That gives us a window of exactly forty minutes to infiltrate, locate the gift table, and extract the packages." Bill leaned back and crossed his arms. He had the look of a man who had robbed many stupid places but was beginning to suspect this might be the stupidest. "And we're doing this because?" "Because last year those little monsters got a combined haul worth four thousand dollars in toys, Bill. Four thousand. You know what we pulled on our last job? Eleven hundred dollars and a decorative gourd." "I liked that gourd." "The gourd is not the point. The point is that there's a mountain of unopened merchandise just sitting there in a suburban living room, guarded by nothing but balloon animals and a man in a rented Elmo costume." Bill picked up the placemat and rotated it, trying to make sense of the scribbled entry points. Molly had drawn arrows in four different colors, none of which she had bothered to explain in a legend. There was a small star near what appeared to be the backyard that simply read DANGER ZONE in block letters. "What's the danger zone?" he asked. "Bouncy castle. If we get near it, we're finished. Those kids will swarm. They can smell adult fear." "You're telling me our primary tactical threat is a bouncy castle." "I'm telling you to respect the bouncy castle, Bill. I've seen what happens to people who don't." He set the placemat down and rubbed his temples. Outside, a bus wheezed past the diner window, and a pigeon strutted along the sidewalk like it owned the mortgage on the whole block. "Fine. What's our disguise situation?" Molly reached under the table and produced a plastic bag. She pulled out two matching purple shirts emblazoned with the words PRINCESS SPARKLE PARTY ENTERTAINMENT. "We go in as the hired magicians. I already called and canceled the real ones." "I don't know any magic tricks, Molly." "Neither do real magicians. That's the whole point of magic." Bill stared at her for a long moment, then picked up his coffee and drained it like a man heading to war. "I want a bigger cut than the gourd job." "Done."