Molly and Bill sat at a table in the dingy back room of "Dino's Pizzeria", poring over a crude floor plan spread across the sticky vinyl surface. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Bill stabbed a thick sausage finger at the crudely labeled "Pando's Party Palace" on the map. "So, here's the plan...we sneak in when they're serving cake and punch, they's always distracted then. Cops won't get riled up by a buncha drunk midget clowns and harried parents, get me? So we grab the gifts, make a beeline for the two-story rat maze, er...play center, and we stash it all in the ball pit. In the chaos, we'll slip out like two d**n racoons and leave 'em all scratchin' their heads. Listen to this..." He twisted the dial on his walkie-talkie. "Yo! Command Center, Command Center, come in!" Molly rolled her bloodshot eyes and glared at him over the rim of her plastic cup with its splash of Jameson's. "Damn Bill, ya baked or just rusted shut up there? We're in the back of Dino's, not the base of Everest. Ain't no one gonna call for help on the only channel you programmed into the old police-band toy you bought at the rummage sale last Spring." "Hey, it's for a contact call in case we get caught inside the bounce house and they lose a kid in the multi-colored balls and call the brass.Give a fella a break!" Molly split a slice of sausage down the middle and slipped half into her greasy mouth between chipped teeth. "Whatever. So we're just gotta wait for themiot clock to beacon the wienermobile base then wheel and deal our sick loot?" Bill shot her a confused look. "No! We're stealing presents from little kids on their special birthday. Not buyin' frosted sticks on a crack pipe. We watch the Santaland on Main drag and the trick-or-treaters until they're complacent and then we smoke a little sherm and highjack cute unicorn giftbags, steel footballs, and plastic smoker kits. We're not gonna wear here on pants!" Molly finished her beer and burped into the phone's mouthpiece. "Bwahha! That manicured until it's Christmas, dummy. No way a five-year-old's harming gang violins at midnight mass in this orgiastic valley of condemnation. I'm talking 'bout a Fat Albert-level Fentanyl high-jacking, though." Bill swished his mouthful of 7-11 duel code and spat. "Blasphemous cheez noodles! Seek and destroy my sweet wildebeest of altruism! That's how we making monkeys out of doe-eyed disciples at the foot of the altar of divinity, see?" Molly handed her companion a handful of stolen blue Smarties. "Naw, if you're talking pasteboard adams, you need a lollipop knockoff to wallow in that swill, chief. Best keep your cerebellum in the good book for now though, ok brother?" They finished their beers and burping duet. Bill wiped his loose ring of keys and humphed a final plan "...tonight was fun kids. Same time next week?"