Molly sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked van, watching the suburban house with the intensity of a sniper, though her target was merely a large window displaying a banner reading "Jake is 6!" The street was quiet, a deceptive calm that settled over the neighborhood like a blanket before a storm. To the untrained eye, this was a innocent celebration of life; to Molly, it was a fortress of solitude protecting high-value assets. She adjusted the focus on her binoculars, scanning the perimeter for motion sensors, or worse, vigilant mothers armed with smartphones. Beside her, Bill was hyperventilating slightly, the sound amplified by the oversized plastic head of the giraffe costume he was currently squeezed into. "The perimeter is secure, but the interior is a nightmare," Bill whispered, his voice muffled by the synthetic fur. "I count twelve hostiles in the main play zone. They're hopped up on sugar and lack moral boundaries." "Stop fidgeting with the tail, Bill. You're going to rip a seam before we even breach the front door," Molly snapped, checking the tension on her retractable grappling hook for the third time. "What’s the sit-rep on the parents?" "Two adults in the kitchen, one on grill duty," Bill reported, consulting a crude map drawn on the back of a pizza flyer. "But there’s a pack of kids circling the gift table like sharks. They look hungry, Molly. They’re eyeing the Lego sets." "They’re six. They’re always hungry. That’s why we have the contingency plan," Molly said, her voice dead serious. "Remember, we aren't here for the participation trophies. We need the big score. The rectangular box in the back. The Death Star." "The Lego Death Star set?" Bill asked, his voice cracking. "That thing weighs ten pounds. It’s unwieldy. We’re going to need a better extraction route than the side gate." "We use the bouncy castle as a distraction," Molly said, glaring at a group of children jumping violently. "You go in, you be the life of the party, and I hit the table. We use the chaos of the sugar rush to our advantage." "I don't know how to be a giraffe," Bill admitted, slumping in his seat. "I was going to just fall down a lot. Kids love slapstick. But what if they swarm me? I’m not equipped for a stampede." "Then fall down with dignity. Just keep their eyes off the loot table for forty-five seconds," Molly commanded, checking her watch. "If anyone asks, you’re the late arrival for the petting zoo." "What if the real giraffe is already there?" "He’s not. I slashed the tires on the petting zoo truck three blocks back. We have a twenty-minute window before the farmer changes the tire and realizes his llama is missing." "That is genuinely evil," Bill said, chuckling nervously as he popped the door handle. "Stealing a petting zoo's thunder. That’s a new low, even for us." "We aren't stealing their thunder. We are stealing their audience," Molly corrected him, stepping out into the sunlight. "Now put your game face on. We have a birthday to crash."