The dumpster smelled like old pizza crusts and discarded dreams, which was exactly the aroma Molly hoped for. “You sure about this, Bill?” she asked, pulling a damp, crumpled clown nose from the trash and tossing it onto the overflowing pile of discarded party favors – mostly plastic tiaras and uninflated balloons. Bill, crouched beside her in a pair of borrowed overalls that strained against his surprisingly robust stomach, snorted. “We’ve busted into libraries guarded by rabid librarians for less. A bunch of kids hopped up on sugar is child’s play.” He patted his bulging backpack. “Besides, I’ve gone all in on the distraction this time. See these?” He unzipped the bag and pulled out a handful of slimy, rubber chickens, each with a pair of googly eyes. Molly grimaced. “Those are… disturbingly realistic, Bill. And loud. Won't someone call animal control?” Bill shrugged. “They’ll be too busy deciphering the emergency broadcast of ukulele playing squirrels,” he said, tapping a ladybug-shaped speaker nestled alongside the rubber poultry. “World domination is happening tonight, Molly, and those pint-sized tyrants won't know what hit em'. Picture it: presents overflowing from the limo, our faces plastered across the news, the headlines screaming, 'BOOGIE FRED AND CAPTAIN CRACKERS STRIKE AGAIN!' Molly stared at him. “You named us after hamsters?” Bill grinned, adjusting his oversized polka-dot bowtie. “It's catchy. Trust me. And think of the merchandising opportunities.” A high-pitched squeal pierced the air, followed by the frenzied shrieks of a dozen small humans. “Showtime!” Bill whispered, tossing a rubber chicken towards the alley entrance. The squeal returned, this time accompanied by a chorus of indignant yelps. A steady stream of sugar-crazed children, their faces smeared with frosting and birthday cake, began to file out of the building, each clutching a goodie bag and a brightly-colored balloon animal. Bill clutched his bag and pulled out a pair of huge plastic sunglasses He winked at Molly, his pride swelling despite the precarious situation. “Remember the plan, ladybug. We hit the cake first, then the presents. And whatever you do, don’t let them catch you eating the glitter glue.” Molly paused, considering the glossy, sparkly tubes filled with adhesive goo. “No promises.”