“Are you sure about this, Bill?” Molly asked, peering through the frosted glass of the community center doors. Inside, shrieking children chased each other around a bouncy castle, their parents looking glazed over and vaguely terrified. Bill, his face pressed against the glass beside her, squinted. “Relax, Molls. It's a kid’s birthday party. What’s the worst that could happen?” “Besides the emotional trauma of shattering their innocent little dreams?” “Oh, you’re worried about collateral damage. You’re soft, Molls, you know that? I’ll make indemnify the toddlers, promise. Maybe leave a few extra bouncy balls.” “You said the same thing about Mrs. Goldberg’s poodle.” “Susan was an aggressive knitter, let's be honest. Besides, this isn't some fluffy poodle situation. We’re talking high-end loot here. You see that mountain of presents over there? Think designer teddy bears, maybe a first edition "Where's Waldo?" worth a fortune. This isn't your average Spiderman lunchbox haul.” “First, ‘Fluffy’ was her therapy animal and you know it. And second, you’d be surprised what they put in those lunchboxes. Pokemon cards, old school. But this…this actually feels wrong.” “Wrong is bankrupt, Molls. And trust me, after that incident with the llama farm, bankrupt is not a good look.” Molly shivered. “Please don’t remind me about the llama farm.” Bill smiled. “Point is, we need this. And besides, nobody remembersICP day-drinks. It's in and out, win-win. The kids get a story to tell their therapist and we get a lifetime supply of Play-Doh.” “I’m surrounded by crazy people. Fine. But you're distracting them. You know kids hate clowns, right?” “Don’t be ridiculous. They love clowns. Especially clowns with suspiciously large duffel bags full of shiny objects.” “The last time you robbed a child's birthday party, you ended up stuck in a bouncy castle for three hours.” Bill scoffed. “That wasn’t me. That was Barry. I learned from his mistakes. We’re going in under the radar, operationally quiet. Just two adults with a keen eye for the finer things.” "Fine," Molly sighed. "But if one of those cupcakes is blueberry flavored, you buy me an ice cream sundae." Bill glanced at the mountain of sugary treats. “Deal. But if those are organic, gluten-free cupcakes, you’re taking me for a steak dinner.”