"Molly, have I ever told you how much I hate kids?" Bill grumbled, scowling at the colorful balloons and streamers of the shopping mall's children's party zone. "Every Christmas," Molly sighed. "Alright, here's the plan. I'll create a distraction using this magic wand I bought. 'Accio...nerve gas!' hehe." She brandished the plastic wand prop. "Very funny. Alright, I'll sneak in and get the good loot while the kids are convulsing. The Ceefax television game watches, Polly Prissy dolls, that talking Elmo thing--anything I can pawn for a few hundred." "Anything but that gaggle of grubby urchins, you mean," Molly deadpanned. "They'll be locked in a cage by dawn, like the rabid animals they are." "If only," Bill sighed longingly. "So, the rendezvous point after we hit the sack is...?" "The back alley by the dumpsters," Molly replied. "I'll give you fifteen minutes. Any later and the pickles start to develop a funny taste." "Fifteen minutes it is then. Meet you in 45." Bill pulled a ski mask over his face. "Happy Holidays!"