"Look at that pile," Molly whispered, her breath fogging the glass of the stolen ice cream truck. "It's leaning. It's a structural disaster waiting to happen. That's at least three grand in retail value right there. LEGOs, drones, that weird interactive owl thing that hoots when you blink." Bill shifted in the driver's seat, wrestling with a pair of oversized novelty sunglasses. "I don't like the demographics, Moll. The target audience is volatile. They run on sugar and chaos. Did you see the kid in the cape? He's been guarding the loot pile for twenty minutes. He hasn't blinked." "He's six, Bill. He's not a sentry; he's waiting for cake. We stick to the timetable. As soon as the candles are lit, visual acuity drops. The parents are distracted by the ritual of combustion. We move." "What about the bouncy castle?" "What about it?" "It's a choke point. It blocks the tactical retreat." "It's filled with air, Bill. You can go around it. Or through it, if you have to bounce. You used to be an acrobat." "I was a gymnast in high school. My knees click now. They sound like castanets. The kids will hear me coming." "You're overthinking this. It’s a smash and grab. We go in, we bag the goods, we get out before the sugar crash hits. Did you bring the loot sacks?" Bill patted the duffel bag between his feet. "Standard issue. Black, nondescript, scary-looking. Are we sure we shouldn't use festive wrapping paper to blend in? We look like we're here to kidnap a politician, not Santa's workshop." "We are not wrapping our loot sacks. We need speed. Paper rips. Canvas endures." "Okay, but what about the clown?" "We discussed the clown." "He's making balloon animals, Molly. He made a sword. A long, twisty sword. If he spots us, he could mobilize the children. They’ll follow him. He’s a pied piper of squeaky shoes." "The clown is neutral. We established this. We are professionals. We once rappelled down an elevator shaft for a diamond the size of a walnut. We can handle a guy named Twinkles." Bill sighed, adjusting his sunglasses. "I just feel morally ambiguous about this one. Stealing from a bank is victimless. The money is insured. Stealing a Fire Station playset from a kid named Timmy? That scars." "Timmy has too much stuff. Look at his house. We are redistributing wealth. To us. Besides, the owl toy is sold out everywhere. We have a buyer waiting in the parking lot of a Denny's." "Fine. But if I get cake on my tactical gear, I'm sending the cleaning bill to the birthday boy." "Load up. The candles are lit. Happy Birthday is starting. The cacophony is our cover. Move, move." "I'm moving. I'm moving. Watch the pinata." "Ignore the pinata. It's already dead." "It's a hollow shell, Molly! A husk!" "Get the presents, Bill." "Left flank is exposed," Molly hissed, ducking behind a hedge shaped like a giraffe. "I see two moms talking about mortgages. We have a window." "I can't run in these loafers," Bill whined. "I dressed as a cool uncle. Cool uncles don't sprint." "Cool uncles steal the good candy and leave. Go."