"Steady, eyes. The perimeter is thick with... innocence," Molly murmured, her face pressed against the frosted glass of the garage door. "I know, I know. Too many guards. Those clowns are mobile and terrifying," Bill replied, adjusting the cuff of his tuxedo pants. "My heart is hammering against my ribs." "Stop with the nerves. Your adrenaline will make you clumsy. We need the scooters. Specifically, the one with the basket." "I saw the basket, but Buster is watching. That golden retriever is loyal to a fault. He’ll bite if we get too close." "Buster is just a distraction. We need a Trojan Horse. Bill, toss me that red rubber bone." "You want me to throw something at a dog?" "Yes. If I toss it to the right, he’ll chase it. Right under the window. Perfect entry point." "And the presents? We’re swiping the whole pile?" "The wrapping paper is too expensive to skip, but we ditch the boxes. Let the parents find nothing but crumpled tissue. It’s hilarious." "What about the candles? The cake?" "We don't take the cake, Bill. We take the lighter. We need to torch the shed later." "The shed? Why the shed?" "Because I said so. And stop breathing so loud, you’re tipping off the toddlers."