Bill adjusted the rusted binoculars, the elastic strap snapping painfully against his sunburned neck with a dull, wet thwack that echoed slightly in the cramped, stuffy van. "I'm telling you, Molly, the bouncy castle is our only tactical entry point." Molly checked her reflection in the curve of a greasy serving spoon, frowning deeply at a dark smudge on her nose. "It's guarded by a clown, Bill. A professional with terrifying face paint." "He's just twisting balloons into poodles. Hardly a lethal threat to us." "Have you seen a toddler denied a balloon animal? They are feral beasts." Molly shuddered visibly at the sudden, sharp memory of a past job gone wrong at a local pizza arcade. Bill lowered the binoculars, blinking hard against the sun, and rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes with a dirty knuckle. "Okay, Plan B. We go through the petting zoo sector." "Goats," Molly whispered. "They have goats guarding the perimeter." "So? I distract the goat. You grab the stash." "It's a piñata, Bill. The loot is suspended by a rope." "We cut the rope. Gravity does the heavy lifting." "There are twenty six-year-olds wielding plastic bats." Bill sighed, sinking lower behind the dense hydrangea bush to avoid the prying eyes of the vigilant parents. "We need a bigger getaway van."