Molly leaned against the side of a bright Volkswagen beetle, her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the bustling suburban street. Bill, clad in a disheveled suit and bowler hat, approached her with the careful nonchalance of a man who had just narrowly escaped a child’s grasp and sprinted at full tilt across a bed of pillows. "Bill, remind me again why we are doing this to kids on Christmas Eve?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Bill puffed out his chest. "The icing on the cake, Molly. Those every-so-tight security systems are severely underfunded for a children’s birthday bash. And these aren't ordinary party favors are caught in our net, am I right?" She sniffed disdainfully. "Childish presents for greedy tykes. How quaint." Bill chuckled. "Every Santa Claus needs a North Pole," he said, twirling a gloved finger. "Now, remember plan 'Sugar Plums', infamous for its hilarity and stealth." Molly narrowed her eyes at the car. "Well, I'm more concerned about 'Turkey Legs', that dim-witted cop who neighbor's kids have put on the nice list." "Leave 'Turkey Legs' to me," Bill assured her, striking a pose that didn't go unnoticed. "No one trusts a man with a bowler hat and a belly shaking. Talk about... a wobbly distraction." "I just hope the coordination to your belt’s movements is as smooth as you claim your skills are," Molly retorted, eyeing him carefully. "Here comes our leader," Bill said, turning ahead and spotting their contact, a balloon artist named Squishy MacKinney, gesturing toward the open gate. "Squishy's the linchpin. If we can gain his trust, he can 'accidentally' inflate our alibis," Molly grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Bill grumbled playfully. "I still can't believe we're stealing presents. Who cares if our clothes don't match?" "Because we're not stealing presents. We're liberating them from the avarice of the gift-giving elite, remember?" Molly said, tossing her head back dramatically. "That, or we're just after some new lithium batteries and a decent half-eaten tub of Smarties," Bill countered with a smirk. Molly let out a soulful chuckle. "Always one step ahead. But I must admit, their obsession with these plastic toys and hyped-up gadgets will fund us well into retirement." Bill knelt to tie his shoelaces, mumbling a conspiratorial "Shh" as a close enough spectator shuffled by. "Don’t be cynical, Molly. This is important work." "Important work" she smirked. "Well, let’s get the show on the road." Molly stepped gracefully towards the gate where Squishy stood waiting, already blowing up a squishy smooshed balloon animal. "Evening, Squishy," she nodded, another well-practised grin. "Evenin' Molly. You're late. The 'smooshed mouse' is ready for the little party favour bags," Squishy replied, handing her the freshly made stuffed balloon animal. "Perfect timing. Almost as meticulous as the strip-mine we're digging up tonight." Molly winked, moved effortlessly between balloon animals and innocuous chit chat, the click-clack of her high heels blending with Squishy's boisterous laughter at a poorly spun story. Meanwhile, Bill, in a corner next to a giant inflatable snowman, started his antics, waddling back and forth with laughter from the wide-eyed children. "Got to keep up the ensemble, don’t we?" he whispered, smirking at Molly across the yard. As the night settled, Molly and Bill, like shadows in the corners, slipped into each room and raided the toy-strewn tables. With each successful lift, they exchanged triumphant glances. "Quick, Bill!" Molly whispered urgently, "Secure the final load of board games and batter-up the battery packs. Hurry, before Mr. Turkey Leg steals our cake.” They exchanged a knowing laugh as they stepped into the moonlit night, leaving behind a flurry of laughter and an empty party, with nothing but the lingering echo of stolen presents.