Molly adjusted the focus on her binoculars, peering through the rain-slicked windshield at the suburban house vibrating with bass. "Okay, give me the sit-rep. What are we looking at?" Bill lowered his half-eaten hot dog, wiping mustard from his chin with a sleeve. "Total chaos. I count twenty hostiles on the lawn. Maybe more inside. They’re running in packs, Moll. Unpredictable patterns." "Hostiles? You mean children, Bill." "Children? Those are tiny, sugar-fueled tornadoes. I saw a six-year-old take out a piñata with a baseball bat in three swings. It was brutal. Papier-mâché everywhere." Molly sighed, tapping the steering wheel. "Focus on the objective. Where is the payload?" "Northeast corner of the living room. Visible through the bay window. It’s a mound, Molly. A glorious, multi-colored mound of cardboard and plastic." "Security?" "Standard perimeter. A bouncy castle guards the south flank. If we get sucked into that, we’re done. Gravity doesn’t apply in there." "Forget the castle. What about parental units?" "I spotted two dads manning the grill. They’re distracted by charcoal dominance. One mom is handling the cake, but she looks stressed. That’s our window. While she's lighting the candles, we ghost in." Molly frowned. "The entry point?" "Side gate. It’s unlocked, but there’s a hazard. A dog?" "Big?" "No. Pug. But it has a cone on its head. It’ll bang into things, alert the guards." "We can distract it with a treat. You brought the squeaky toy?" "I have the squeaky toy, the counterfeit invites, and the getaway vehicle keys. But Molly, are we sure about the ethics here? Stealing from kids?" "We aren't stealing from kids, Bill. We’re liberating imported plastic from ungrateful brats who probably won't even play with half of it. It’s a victimless crime." "They're going to cry." "They're going to learn a valuable life lesson about the fleeting nature of material possessions. Now, what’s the extraction route?" "We grab the biggest boxes—Legos, electronics, anything that makes noise—and dump them out the side window into the bushes. We load the van during the 'Happy Birthday' song. They sing it twice, right? Once for the kid, once for the camera?" "Usually. That gives us a ninety-second window of auditory cover. It’s tight." "I can move fast when I’m motivated. I saw a box with a drone on it. That’s eBay gold." "Stick to the plan, Bill. No personal shopping. We grab the pile, we load the trunk, we drive. We do not stop for cake." "But it’s chocolate. I saw it." "You eat while you work, you die. What about the clown?" Bill stiffened, checking his mirror. "The clown? I didn't see a clown." "There was a car in the driveway. Tiny vehicle. Polka dots." "Oh god. A professional?" "If he pulls a balloon animal, he’s a pro. That means he’s got eyes on the crowd. He’s a wildcard. If he spots us, abort immediately. I’m not fighting a clown in front of witnesses. The PR would be a nightmare." "Noted. Avoid the clown. Neutralize the pug. Secure the presents." "Exactly. Check your earpiece. Channel four. If I say 'Pinocchio', it means run. If I say 'Gepetto', it means the cops are coming." "What if I say 'Jiminy Cricket'?" "Then you’re a weirdo, Bill. Put your mask on. Not the full ski mask—look like a parent. Take off the tie." Bill undid his tie and popped his collar. "I look like a divorced dad looking for a bathroom." "Perfect. You’ll blend right in. On my signal. Wait for the candles." "And if the pug attacks?" "Offer him the hot dog. I didn't see you eat the whole thing anyway." "I was nervous!" "Eat the rest. You’re going to need the energy." Molly checked the safety on her flashlight, though she knew she wouldn't need it. "Okay. The cake is coming out. The lights are dimming. It’s go time. Remember, Bill—be shadows. Be ghosts. And do not, under any circumstances, trip over the bouncy castle stakes." "I make no promises. Let’s get those toys."