Molly adjusted the rearview mirror, staring past the steering wheel to the suburban house at the end of the cul-de-sac. "Okay, look alive. We’re looking at a standard single-point entry through the side gate. Visibility is low, but the target density is high." Bill squinted through the windshield, unwrapping a hoagie with a crinkle of wax paper. "Target density? It’s a backyard, Molly. I see a bouncy castle and a guy making balloon animals. Is that a sword? He just made a sword." "Forget the sword. Focus on the loot. We have a pile of presents approximately four feet high located under the maple tree. Ribbons, paper, the works. It’s a high-yield grab, Bill. We’re talking LEGOs, maybe a bicycle, definitely some high-end electronics if this kid’s parents are as loaded as the file suggests." "File? You mean the flyer you stole from the grocery store bulletin board? It’s a six-year-old’s birthday party, not the Crown Jewels." "Exactly. Low security, high emotional volatility. When the cake comes out, everyone’s distracted. That’s our window. You go low, I go high. We bag the goods and vanish." "You want me to tackle a six-year-old?" "I want you to tackle the gift table. Keep your interactions with the hostiles to a minimum. If confronted, use the cover story." "I’m still not comfortable being your 'eccentric Uncle Steve.' I don’t even have a fake beard." "You have a mustache. Grow the rest out in your head. It’s called method acting, Bill." Bill took a massive bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "What about the clown? I don’t trust him. He’s got eyes like a shark." "He’s a birthday clown. He’s probably high on nitrous. Ignore him. The real threat is the mother. She’s the gatekeeper. I saw her checking a clipboard. She’s organized. That’s dangerous." "She’s just checking RSVPs." "She’s doing a headcount. That means she’ll notice when the stack of gifts starts shrinking. We need to be surgical. In and out. No traces." "You know," Bill said, wiping mayo off his chin, "there’s a piñata. We could wait for the piñata. When that thing breaks, it’s total chaos. Candy everywhere. Kids screaming. It’s the perfect diversion." Molly looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "That’s... actually not terrible. The piñata creates a cone of confusion. Blindfolds, bats, sugar-crazed maniacs swinging for the fences. The parents will be focused on preventing concussions." "See? I’m an ideas man. So, we wait for the papier-mâché donkey to die?" "We wait. But keep your mask ready. The second that candy hits the grass, we move on the presents." "I still think we should just grab the goodie bags and run. I heard there are minifigurines in there." "We don't do small-time anymore, Bill. We’re professionals. Now, put the sandwich down and check the perimeter. I think I see the dad bringing out the cooler. Phase one is imminent." "Fine. But if that clown comes at me with a balloon sword, I’m throwing a punch." "You throw a punch at a clown, you lose the moral high ground. Just get the gifts."