The van smelled like stale pizza and regret. Molly squinted through binoculars at the suburban house, its front yard drowning in pink balloons. "Seventeen kids," she muttered. "That's seventeen presents minimum." Bill adjusted his fake mustache for the fourth time. "Walk me through the entry point again." "We go through the bouncy castle." "The bouncy castle," Bill repeated flatly. "It's connected to the back door. We bounce in, grab the goods from the gift table, bounce out. Silent. Professional." "Nothing about bouncing is silent, Molly. I'll sound like a asthmatic seal." She lowered the binoculars. "You got a better idea?" "What about the clown entrance?" "There's already a clown." "So we take out the clown." "We're not taking out Bonkers the Magnificent, Bill. He's a local legend." Bill groaned and slumped against the seat. The party music drifted across the street, some irritating pop song about sunshine. "The mom looks tough," he observed. "She runs a CrossFit gym." "Of course she does." Molly checked her watch. Cake cutting happened in twenty minutes. That was their window. "You remember the signal?" Bill sighed heavily. "I yell happy birthday." "Louder." "Happy birthday!"