Molly peered through the gaudy, inflatable archway and whistled. "Good Lord, Bill, this is worse than that clown convention last year." Bill, perched precariously on a giant inflatable giraffe, grunted. "Focus, Mol. Presents. That's what we're after. Remember the diamonds in those socks?" "Yeah, yeah, but look at these kids. They're hopped up on sugar and terrifyingly cheerful. Like mini clowns, only scarier." Bill scanned the scene. "Families, Mol. Easy targets. They'll be distracted by the bouncy castle and the magician pulling infinite scarves out of his—” "Hold on. Two-year-olds and scarves? Disaster waiting to happen. We gotta be quick." Molly cracked her knuckles. "Okay, plan B. You distract the pirate face painter with your 'amazing' juggling tricks, I grab the presents from the designated drop zone. Done clean, in and out before anyone notices the piñata's empty." "Juggling tricks?" Bill scoffed. "I'll stick to lockpicking. You know I can't resist dropping things." "Fine. Just remember, no sweets. Don't want a repeat of the 'Great Cookie Caper of '22'. Got it?" "Alright, alright, no cookies. We steal presents, scare the bejesus out of some toddlers, and get rich. Easy peasy."