Bill crouched low behind the steering wheel of the unmarked van, the binoculars pressed so hard against his eye sockets that he was beginning to see stars. Outside, the suburban street was deceptively peaceful, save for the chaotic explosion of pastel balloons tethered to the mailbox of number forty-two. The muffled sound of shrieking children drifted through the van’s thin walls, sounding less like joy and more like the ritualistic chanting of a tiny, sugar-fueled cult. "I’m just saying, the ethics here are murky," Bill said, lowering the binoculars to glare at his partner. "Usually, we steal from people who can afford to lose a diamond or two. These are children, Molly. They have emotional fragility." Molly rolled her eyes so dramatically it looked like a medical event. She unfolded a hand-drawn map on the dashboard, smoothing out the creases with a gloved hand. "We aren't stealing their innocence, Bill. We’re stealing their bounty. Do you know how much a complete, mint-condition set of interstellar battle figurines goes for on the secondary market? More than your dignity, that’s for sure." "That’s low," Bill muttered, reaching for a glazed donut sitting on the center console. "But look at the security detail. That mom at the door? She’s scanning the perimeter. She has the eyes of a hawk and the reflexes of a panicked zebra. If she spots us, it’s game over." "That’s why we wait for the entertainment," Molly countered, checking her tactical watch. "In exactly ten minutes, a man dressed as a wizard is going to arrive. According to the brochure I swiped from the mailbox, he will unleash a fog machine and a live dove. That is our window." "A wizard? What kind of party has a wizard?" "A rich kid party. That’s the point. Look, the layout is simple. The gift table is positioned in the solarium, right next to the sliding glass door. While the wizard distracts the masses with his pyrotechnics, you slide the door open, pass me the loot, and we vanish into the shrubbery." "What if the wizard has real powers? I’ve seen documentaries, Molly. Things go wrong when you antagonize the magically inclined." "He’s an accountant named Steve who does magic on weekends. He doesn't have powers. He has a cape and a residency in the valley. Now, stop stalling. How is your costume?" Bill gestured to his outfit with a heavy sigh. He was wearing a bright yellow vest and a hat that was slightly too small for his head. "I feel ridiculous. I look like a traffic cone." "You look like a valet. That’s the point. If anyone sees you, just wave a ticket and look impatient. Nobody questions a disgruntled parking attendant." "I’m going to get tackled by a father in cargo shorts," Bill groaned, adjusting his cap. "I can feel it. They always tackle. Or they throw footballs. The suburban dad’s natural defense mechanism is projectile sports equipment." "Stay focused on the payload," Molly whispered, her eyes fixed on the house. "We’re looking for the big boxes. Heavy. If it rattles, leave it. We want premium plastic, not cheap noisemakers." "Okay, big boxes. No rattles. Avoid the wizard. Got it." "And for the love of all that is holy, Bill, do not eat the cake. I saw you eyeing the fondant through the window earlier." "It was a train design! It looked delicious!" "It’s a trap. You eat the cake, you leave a trail of crumbs, and we end up in the slammer explaining to a judge why we ruined a seven-year-old's birthday. Now, check the ignition. We move on my signal." Bill turned the key, the engine sputtering to life with a wet cough. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "We are really doing this," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "We are the villains of a cartoon." "We are entrepreneurs," Molly corrected, opening the passenger side door. "Now, put on your game face. The wizard just pulled up, and he’s holding a wand that looks suspiciously like a painted chopstick. Let's move."