Bill adjusted the binoculars, the plastic eyepieces squeaking against his grease-painted nose. "I’m telling you, Molly, the intel is bad. There’s too many of them. We’re talking a twenty-to-one ratio. Those are insurgency numbers." Molly slapped a folded map against the steering wheel of their unmarked van. "Stop being a baby. They’re six years old. They don't have tactical training. They have naps and juice boxes." "Juice boxes filled with sugar," Bill hissed, ducking below the window line as a bright red SUV pulled into the driveway. "That’s combat fuel, Molly! Did you see the size of that gift bag the mother just hauled out of the trunk? It was shimmering. That’s high-value merchandise. We need a new entry strategy. The chimney is a death trap." "The chimney is classic! It’s discrete." "It’s tight! I ate a burrito two hours ago. If I get stuck up there, the fire department comes, and then we’re on the news again. Remember the petting zoo fiasco?" "That goat was a distraction," Molly insisted, checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. "We go in through the side gate. We wait until the magician starts his set. That gives us a twelve-minute window while the adults are distracted by bad card tricks and the kids are screaming." Bill peeked back over the dashboard. "What’s the extraction point?" "The bouncy castle." "The bouncy castle? Are you insane? That’s a structural hazard. It’s an air-filled vinyl death trap." "It’s perfect cover," Molly argued, pointing a manicured finger toward the backyard fence. "If the heat comes down, we blend in. We bounce. We look like enthusiastic parents, or perhaps very youthful uncles." "I’m wearing a ski mask, Molly. People tend to notice a grown man in a ski mask bouncing with toddlers." "So take off the mask inside the castle! God, do I have to think of everything? Look, the target is the table under the oak tree. I see at least four rectangular boxes. That’s Lego territory. Maybe a tablet. We grab, we bag, we bounce." Bill slumped into his seat, the leather squeaking under his nylon jacket. "I have a bad feeling about the clown. He’s making eye contact with the perimeter." "Clowns are harmless. He’s probably thinking about his residuals." "He’s got a look, Molly. A look that says, 'I know you’re here for the Star Wars merchandise.' We should abort. Let’s go hit a laundromat. Easy cash, zero children." "We are not aborting!" Molly hissed, grabbing the walkie-talkie. "We have been casing this birthday party for three days. I know when little Timmy blows out the candles. That is our moment of acoustic shock. The lights go out, the room goes dark, we sweep the table." "And the piñata?" "What about it?" "It’s a tethered explosive device filled with candy shrapnel. If they break that thing open while we’re in the zone, we risk a full-blown sugar riot. Have you ever been trampled by a horde of children hopped up on Tootsie Rolls? I have. In '08. I still have the scars." Molly sighed, pressing the transmit button on the radio. "Fine. I’ll cut the piñata down first. Bill, check your Velcro. We go on my signal. Remember, smile. We’re just here for the cake." "We're not actually getting cake, right?" "Grab the presents, Bill. On three. One, two..."