Molly tapped her foot against the cold pavement, eyes locked on the inflatable castle that dominated the backyard of the Peterson's mansion. Bill, fidgeting with a set of lock picks, didn't bother looking up. "You know, I've worked some strange jobs, but this takes the cake," she muttered. "Stealing from a kiddie party? What's next, swiping milk money?" Bill grunted. "Yeah, well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I hear the Peterson's throw in some primo tech gadgets in those kid's presents. High-end stuff. They spoil those little monsters." "Makes you wonder where the monsters get it from," Molly retorted, adjusting her bag. "So, how are we doing this? We just waltz in, grab everything, and bolt?" Bill finally looked up, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Nah, we're going in as clowns. I've got wigs, red noses, the works. No one will suspect a thing." Molly's eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding me. You do realize I have no talent for being a clown, right? I can barely juggle three oranges." "Who said anything about juggling?" Bill patted his bag. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. Trust me, this will be the smoothest job we've ever pulled off." "And what if someone recognizes us?" Bill shrugged. "That's what the wigs are for. Plus, face-painting. We'll be unrecognizable." Molly sighed. "Fine, but I'm not doing any of those balloon animals. Kids always end up crying when they pop." Bill chuckled. "Deal. Stick to the presents. I'll handle the kiddie crowd." As the party began, they slipped into character, wiggling their red noses and clowning around. The children, oblivious to their true intentions, clung to their every move,ServiceImpl especially when Bill pulled out an endless string of silk handkerchiefs from his pocket. Molly saw her opportunity and began circling the gift table. "This is almost too easy," she whispered into Bill's ear as he balanced a rubber ball on his chin. "Just wait until they blow out the candles," Bill whispered back. "That's our cue." As predicted, chaos ensued when the birthday candles were extinguished. Children scrambled, the noise of the party reached a fever pitch. Molly and Bill, now out of sight behind the table, quickly worked their way through the mountain of presents. Bill, hunched over, whispered, "Almost done. A few more and we're out of here." Molly, her pockets already bulging with gadgets, replied, "Let's hope the getaway car is as forgiving as I am right now. I feel like I just swallowed a Christmas tree." They exchanged a quick nod, timing their exit with the chaos of a particularly loud pinata breaking open. Slipping out into the night, they couldn't resist a chuckle at their own audacity. As they hopped into their getaway car, a beat-up sedan with a squeaky backseat, they caught their reflections in the rearview mirror—wigs askew, red noses damp from the night's festivities. "I think I might retire this look," Molly said with a laugh. "Let's stick to traditional heists from now on." Bill grinned. "Agreed. But think about it—best cover ever. Who'd suspect the clown?" They drove off into the night, the car loaded with their unusual haul, already dreaming of what marvels they'd find in those wrapped gifts—clown costumes forgotten in the rearview.