The van smelled of stale espresso and desperation. A laminated map of the suburban backyard was taped to the dashboard, littered with red string that went absolutely nowhere. Molly adjusted her binoculars, the plastic creaking in the silence of the cabin. "Okay, listen up," Molly whispered, though they were parked three houses away. "We have a bouncy castle at three o'clock. That is the primary distraction." Bill unwrapped a granola bar, the crinkle of the wrapper sounding like a gunshot in the enclosed space. "It's a bouncy castle, Mol. It’s filled with static electricity and screaming. It's not a tactical asset." "It's a containment unit," Molly snapped, lowering the binoculars to glare at him. "It keeps the hostiles confined. While they are jumping, they cannot pursue. It’s basic physics." "They are six years old," Bill said, taking a bite. "I don't think they pursue. I think they waddle." "Waddling can be fast when sugar is involved. Now, look at the gift table. That is the prize. PlayStation 5, a bicycle with training wheels, and one of those robot dogs that actually pees." "We're stealing a peeing robot?" "It retails for two hundred bucks, Bill. Liquidate it on eBay. Now, the parents are the real threat. The mother, Karen, has a panic scream that registers on a seismograph. We need to neutralize the cake cutting." Bill leaned forward, squinting through the windshield at the colorful streamers fluttering in the breeze. "What's the entry point? The side gate?" "Too obvious. The clown is smoking back there," Molly said. "We go through the hedge. It’s thick enough to provide cover, and the garden gnome placement gives us a clear line of sight." "I hate clowns," Bill muttered. "And I hate hedges. Last time I got stuck in a hedge, the homeowner tried to water me." "Focus. We have a window of opportunity exactly twelve minutes long. That’s when the magician does his big finale. The rabbit goes in the hat, the kids scream, and the parents look away. That is when we strike." "And the getaway? We can't exactly sprint with a bicycle and a giant box of LEGOs." "We use the wagon. The Radio Flyer. It's parked by the garage. It's a force multiplier!" "We're stealing a wagon to steal the presents?" "It's logistics, Bill! God, why do I have to explain this every single time?" Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. "Maybe we should just knock on the door and ask for a slice of cake. It's a public event. No security guards, just a guy making balloon animals." "That's the beauty of it. Low security, high yield. This is the score of a lifetime. A soft target with zero consequences." The sun beat down on the windshield, making the dashboard bobblehead wobble frantically. Outside, the sound of a chaotic rendition of 'Happy Birthday' drifted through the air vents. "They're starting the song," Molly whispered. "This is it. Vision is impaired by candle smoke and emotion. Grab the loot sack." "I don't have a loot sack. I have a Santa sack." "Even better. Seasonal appropriate. Put on the party hat." "The what?" "The party hat. It's camouflage. We blend in." "We are stealing their presents, Molly." "Exactly. We're the entertainment. The 'Surprise Gift Relocation Service'. Now move out."