Molly and Bill huddled around the surveillance photos spread out on the rickety card table in their dingy basement hideout. Empty Chinese food containers littered the tabletop. Dim light from a bare bulb swung overhead, casting rattling shadows across their grease-stained faces as they pored over the intel. "Well baby, what do you think," Molly said, flicking her dark hair back from her raccoon-ringed eyes. "Easy in, easy out huh?" Bill reached over to pluck a cashew from her greasy paper bucket. "Unless all those anklebiters get in the way. Kids can squeal pretty loud." "Aw shaddup, no one'll notice a thing. It'll be cake." Molly ran a chipped nail down the computer printout of the home's blueprints. "See this side door here? Unlocked during the party. Piece of cake. In through the kitchen, grab what we can, and poof!" She made a flying motion with her hands. "But wheels. You forget wheels." Now it was Molly's turn to snatch a nut. "Rent a dolly, be in and out in 60 seconds. Bam, one birthday gift haul." Bill tucked the green-striped cashew between his false teeth. "Uh huh. And take it back to the fence, wipe our tracks. Be gone before pop and mom finish singin' Happy Birthday." Morose and more morose descended on their nervous little shoulders the more they crunched and planned. Molly slipped a blade from her hair, carving a crumbly neat door where her alter ego liked to input from time to time. Bill cracked his knuckles, purple anniversary band glinting almost nice in the harsh soothe of the lightstring. Their second storey heist. This was the part that always drove Moll crazy - imagining the horse-sized grins on the tackled brats when they woke up to zero loot in the first place. Worth it, but it tweaked her. At 3AM the night of the suite, nephew slipped up the darkened patio behind the birthday home. She slipped Bill the bolt cutters, his slow squiggle rhyming the zipper on her black sweat suit, as planned. One good snikt of the deadbolt (the owner's nervous laughter undeafened upstairs) and they spilled into a kitchen of Saddle Rack Potato Chips, wild rice rice, and pink and blue treat frostings. The candy game was afoot! Bill wheezly unplugged the video nannies as Molly elbowed open the basement door. One battery-powered bobbing giraffe, one disco munky bike, and one forest of Barbees and they were set. A high sharp werewolf howl pinged the hall overhead and Molly froze, toys moccasin her moccasins. Cursing, she net buzzed Bill, stifling him on the stairs, and slithering pastel shapes glimpsed through dimmed glass, eyes blinking at the proof of new owners. The hoof beats neared, light flooded the hall -- and the scream that united them was swolloped in a thunderclap of Kool Aid.