Inside the dimly lit confines of their shabby hideout, adorned with a myriad of maps and dubious floor plans, Molly leaned over the latest target blueprint with an intensity that rivalled a surgeon. Bill, scratching his stubbled chin, squinted at the colorful sketch Molly had sprawled on the table. "Remind me again why we're stooping to kids' parties, Mol? Seems a bit, I dunno, petty?" Bill mumbled, his brow furrowed. Molly, unfazed, shot him a glare. "It's simple, Bill. Low security, high reward. You think parents check credentials on a clown? Plus, think of the haul—video games, toys, gadgets…" Bill chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "A clown, huh? You sure you can pull that off without scaring the kids half to death?" "I'll have you know I have a very soothing presence," Molly retorted, her face deadpan. "Now, focus. Here's the plan. The Johnsons' kid is having a mega bash—ponies, a magician, and a mountain of gifts. We go in disguised as entertainariat." "Entertainment! Are you sure about this?" "Positive. You're the magician, I'm the clown." Bill grimaced at the notion. "Great, I always wanted to disappoint kids professionally. What's the trick, pulling a rabbit out of a hat?" "Worse. You're going to pull the presents out of the house. We stash the good stuff in the magic box, the one with the false bottom we used in the Newark job." Bill nodded slowly, his mind churning through the details. "Alright, what about crowd control? You know I get nervous when little humans swarm." Molly smirked. "That’s where your grand finale comes in. A spectacular vanishing act. You distract them, I'll handle the exit strategy with the loot." "And the escape route?" "We use the alley behind their garden. It's shielded by bushes, perfect cover. We stash the goods in the van, painted like a big, shiny unicorn—kids and parents will think it’s part of the show." Bill let out a low whistle. "A unicorn van, huh? You think of everything, Mol." Molly’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "That's why you're the magician and I'm the mastermind." Bill stood up, stretching his limbs as if preparing for a marathon. "Fine, I'm in. But if I end up on one of those 'Worst Magician Ever' videos, I'm blaming you." "You’ll be the great, enigmatic Billioso, they’ll love you. Any more concerns, or can I count this as a go?" "Just one more thing," Bill said, pausing for dramatic effect, "What's the deal with the ponies? They won't rat us out, will they?" Molly burst out laughing. "No, Bill, the ponies are sworn to secrecy. Code of the carnival or something like that." "Good, because I don't need a pony snitch in my life. Let’s do this, Mol. Let's make this the best worst party ever." Molly nodded with enthusiasm, her grin matching Bill's. "To the best worst party ever. May the gifts be plenty and the children none the wiser." They clinked their mugs of lukewarm coffee together, sealing their fateful agreement with the solemnity of two kids plotting in a treehouse—an oddly fitting comparison for the day's enterprise.