“There’s a pretty boat in the garage,” he said distractedly. He turned back to the playhouse, bent, and examined it more closely. “I wonder if there’s a boat in this garage?”

As Huey studied the little house, Joe Hickey climbed out of the truck. He wore a new Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and Tommy Hilfiger khakis, but he didn’t look natural or even comfortable in the costume. The lower half of a crude eagle tattoo showed on his biceps below the band of the Polo’s left sleeve.

“Look at the real house, Buckethead. See the third downstairs window from the end? That’s it.”

Huey straightened and glanced over at the main house. “I see it.” He laid one of his huge hands on the playhouse’s porch roof. “I sure wish I could fit in this house. I bet the whole world looks different from in there.”

“You’ll never know how different.” Hickey reached into the truck bed and took out a rusted toolbox. “Let’s take care of the alarm system.”

He led Huey toward the open garage.

Twenty minutes later they emerged from the back door of the house and stood on the fieldstone patio.

“Put the toolbox back in the truck,” Hickey said. “Then wait behind the playhouse. As soon as they go inside, you run up to the window. Got it?”

“Just like last time.” “There wasn’t any freakin’ Disneyland playhouse last time. And that was a year ago. I don’t want you fooling around back there. The second you hear the garage door close, get your big ass up to that window. If some nosy neighbor drives up in the meantime and asks you a question, you’re with the lawn service. Act like a retard. It shouldn’t be much of a stretch for you.”

Huey stiffened. “Don’t say that, Joey.”

“If you’re waiting at the window when you’re supposed to be, I’ll apologize.”