Bill lowered the binoculars, the plastic scraping against the steering wheel of the van. "I’m telling you, Molly, the security is tighter than the bank job in '08. We got lucky with the guard dog napping at the bank. This? This is a fortress." "Give me the sit-rep," Molly said, not looking up from the blueprint she was drawing on a napkin. "Armed guards? Laser grids?" "Worse. Mothers. Three of them. And they’re wearing yoga pants. They have eyes like hawks. One just spotted a toddler trying to leave the perimeter with a juice box. She took him down with a lunge a linebacker would envy. It was brutal." "Quit staring at the yoga pants and look at the prize table. What’s the estimated value?" "It’s a mountain of wrapping paper, Molly. But I saw a Nintendo Switch box. And what looks like a beginner’s drone. Maybe a robot kit." "Jackpot. Okay, standard flanking maneuver. You take the bouncy castle, I take the cake." "You’re taking the cake?" "I’m taking the cake as a diversion. If I walk out with a sheet cake, no one questions the box under my other arm. It’s the perfect crime. I look like a helpful aunt." "I don’t think you understand the physics of a six-year-old’s birthday party. If you touch that cake, you will have forty sticky fingers on you before you can say 'diabetes'. You'll be trampled by the time the candles are blown out." "That’s why you’re the distraction, Bill. You need to create a void." "A void?" "A vacuum of attention. Look, the clown is taking a break. He’s vaping behind the oak tree. That is our window." "I still feel weird about this. Stealing from kids." "We aren’t stealing from kids. We’re stealing from parents who bought the kids too much stuff. It’s wealth redistribution. We’re modern-day Robin Hoods. We’re taking from the rich and giving to... well, us. We’re poor. It works." "Robin Hood didn’t steal Legos." "Robin Hood didn’t have rent to pay in this economy. Look at that kid opening the biggest box. He’s bored. He’s throwing the wrapping paper on the ground. He doesn’t deserve that drone. He just wants the box it came in." "So we’re doing him a favor?" "Exactly. We’re taking the burden of ownership off his shoulders. He gets the cardboard, we get the electronics. Everyone wins. Now, what about the piñata?" "It’s a tactical nightmare. It’s hanging right above the gift table. If they start swinging that bat, it’s a hazard zone. Blindfolded children with baseball bats? That’s chaos theory in action. I saw a kid take out a rose bush last year." "Which is why we wait for the swing. When the candy falls, the crowd surges. That is when we execute the grab-and-go." "So we’re relying on gravity and sugar addiction?" "We’re relying on human nature, Bill. The second that papier-mâché donkey ruptures, every parent in a five-mile radius will be diving for Tootsie Rolls. We slip in, grab the Switch, the drone, and that fancy art set." "The art set? For me?" "For the fence, Bill. Focus. Now, put on the mustache." "The adhesive is giving me a rash. It smells like latex and regret." "Put on the mustache or you don’t get a cut of the video games. Now, check the perimeter. Is the dog still there?" "The golden retriever? Yeah, he’s watching us. He looks sad." "Perfect. He’s our exit strategy. We run, he barks, the parents get distracted by the barking dog, we vault the fence and vanish." "We have to vault a fence? My knee hasn't been the same since the museum job. Can't we just walk?" "Walk? With a sheet cake and a drone? We need speed. Tape your knee and grab the loot bag. The clown is putting away the vape. It’s showtime."