Molly and Bill sat hunched in a stuffy van parked across from the bustling Chuck E. Cheese, their eyeline not even reaching the halfway point of the windows. Munching on stale popcorn, they watched as minions and cartoon mice streamed past the grime-smeared glass. "You sure this is the score, Bill?" Molly asked, her voice tinted with skepticism. She shrugged, her beige trench coat hiding her slender figure, and adjusted her red feathered beret. "I mean, we're talkin' kids' parties here. What kinda take do we even get?" Bill, hunched over a beat-up laptop, cackled softly, showing off a gold tooth. "Trust me, doll. This is the motherlode." He tapped the screen, which displayed a blurry picture of the manager unlocking a small vault in the back of the party pizzeria. "Inside that vault," he continued, lowering his voice to a stage-whisper, "are all the RSVPs. And in those RSVPs, are the address-o-sphere to every wealthy rugrat in a 50-mile radius." Molly arched a penciled eyebrow. "And that's good, 'cause?" "Because," Bill began, his eyes alight with devious glee, "these are not just any presents we're lifting, sweetheart. These are the extravagant 'Pinterest Mom' gifts! Tickets to meet Elsa and whatever-the-heck-is-popular-nowadays, limited edition Hatch