Bill adjusted the binoculars, the plastic rim digging into his eye sockets as he peered through the dense rhododendron bush. "I’m telling you, the security is tighter than it looks. They’ve got a guy on the gate." Molly swatted a mosquito on her neck. "It’s a bounce house attendant, Bill. He’s nineteen and he’s stoned. Just walk past him." "He has a whistle, Molly. A whistle and a clipboard. That implies a chain of command. It implies structure." "Oh, for crying out loud. We’ve cracked safes in Buenos Aires. We’ve rappelled down elevator shafts in Dubai. You’re scared of a guy in a high-visibility vest?" "I’m not scared. I’m respectful of his authority. Also, the target area is swarming. We’ve got hostiles on the swings, hostiles on the slide, and a cluster near the snack table." "They’re children, Bill. They’re three feet tall." "Three feet of pure, unadulterated chaos. Did you see what that kid in the Superman t-shirt did to the pizza? He didn't eat it; he wore it. These are not rational actors. They are unpredictable." "Which is why we stick to the plan. I create a diversion near the ice cream station, and you infiltrate the perimeter of the gift table. What are we looking at for the haul?" "Visually? It’s a goldmine. I spotted a giant box with a bow. Could be a tablet. Could be a robotics kit. We’re talking high-street value. Plus, a lot of gift bags. Gift bags are the Wild West, Molly. You never know if you’re getting a fifty-dollar bill or a generic scented candle." "Just grab the bags and the big boxes. Leave the cards. We don't need the emotional weight of little Timmy’s birthday money." "Roger that. Bags and boxes. But what about the parents? They’re the real threat. They have eyes in the backs of their heads. It’s unnatural." "The parents are currently engaged in a heated debate about school districts. They won’t notice a thing until the cake is cut. That’s our window. Five minutes, maybe seven if the clown is funny." "The clown isn't funny, Molly. He’s terrifying. He’s making balloon animals that look like fungal infections." "Doesn't matter. He draws the eye. While he’s twisting a poodle, you move. You have the Santa suit?" "I have the Santa suit. But it’s August. It’s ninety degrees out here. I’m going to sweat through the padding." "It’s the perfect disguise. No one questions Santa. Even in August, people just assume it’s a promotional event. It grants you diplomatic immunity." "Or they think I’m having a mental breakdown. I’m going to look like a heat-stroke victim waiting to happen." "Better a heat-stroke victim than a convict. Now, check your pockets. Did you bring the lollipops?" "I brought the lollipops. But I only have cherry. I couldn't find the grape." "Grape is the currency of the realm, Bill! Cherry is second-tier! You can’t bribe a four-year-old with cherry!" "It was a supply chain issue! The store was out of grape! They’ll take cherry. They’re desperate for sugar. Look at them. They’re vibrating." "Fine. Cherry it is. If a kid gets in your way, offer the pop. If that fails, use the water pistol." "It’s filled with grape juice." "Exactly. It stains. It creates a crime scene diversion. You take the shot, you stain the shirt, the parent panics, the crowd scatters." "That seems aggressive. That’s escalation of force." "It’s tactical mischief! Do you want the iPad or not? Do you want to pay your rent this month?" "I want the iPad. I want to pay my rent. But I also want to sleep at night knowing I didn't ruin a birthday party with grape juice." "You’re a thief, Bill. We don’t have the luxury of a clean conscience. Now, put on the beard. We move on my signal." "I’m putting on the beard. It smells like mothballs." "It smells like opportunity. Get ready. The clown is reaching for the balloon sword. The show is about to start." "God, I hate kids' parties." "Focus, Santa. We’re going in."