Bill adjusted his balaclava, the wool itching his nose in the sweltering July heat, while Molly calibrated her grappling hook, a repurposed coat hanger attached to a clothesline. They crouched behind the manicured hydrangeas of the suburban backyard, the scent of grass clippings and impending felony filling the air. Inside the fence, a horde of six-year-olds ran amok, their shrill screams piercing the peaceful afternoon like tiny, manic sirens. The target lay just beyond the bouncy castle: a mountain of glistening presents wrapped in superhero paper. Bill checked his watch, his hand shaking slightly. He looked terrified of the sugar-fueled chaos unfolding before them. "Do we really have to go through with this?" Bill asked. Molly scanned the perimeter, ignoring his panic. The clown was currently making a balloon animal that looked suspiciously like a rabid dachshund. He was distracted, but the parents were hovering like hawks near the juice boxes, forming an impenetrable wall of denim and khaki. "Focus, Bill. The loot is worth the risk," Molly whispered. "Okay," Bill said. He nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead. The stakes were incredibly high. If they timed it wrong, they would face a fate worse than prison time: the wrath of a mother who hadn't had her second cup of coffee.