The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the facade of the suburban house. Molly stood at the edge of the driveway, her eyes scanning the front yard with a practiced precision. She pulled at the hem of her black jumpsuit, ensuring it was still snug against her skin. Bill, a little farther down the road, leaned against a tall oak tree, his omnipresent iPhone clutched in his hand. He squinted at the screen, chuckling at an autocorrect disaster scrolling across the tiny digital canvas. Molly sauntered over, her platform boot heels kicking up tiny poofs of dust. "What's so funny, partner?" Bill held up the phone for her to see. Molly raised an eyebrow as she read the text aloud, "'The'l get invited to 'hese parties.' Molly snorted. "Classic autocorrect." "Yeah," Bill conceded, "Though they've got nothing on the time it thought we were cooking 'chu for dinner." Molly laughed, shaking her head. "Those were great times, Bill." Moving closer, she glanced at the stereo system in the hi-fi corner of the porch. "I still can't believe someone thought a nine-year-old's birthday party was a good opportunity to bust out the Beach Boys." Bill's grin broadened. "Only in the suburbs, babe." As they surveyed the scene, two children's laughter drifted out the open window, punctuated by the occasional clink of glass and excited squeals. Molly glanced back at Bill, whose eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Alright, let's get down to business. The presents are stacked high near the back door. We can't miss the crowd." Bill checked the time on his phone. "Right on schedule, kiddos. Mrs. Johnson's 'mandatory' tea party should be coming to a close around now." Molly's gaze locked onto the presents. "And by 'mandatory', you mean 'mandatory' for the parents." She raised an eyebrow. "I hope you've inventoried the terrain." Bill flipped through his iPhone, revealed thumbnail images of the house's floor plan. "Got it down pat. The living room's a nonstarter, but the playroom has a sliding glass door that's begging to be pried open." Molly's eyes light up. "You've been doing your homework." "Who taught you to stake out targets?" he countered. Parrying his jab, Molly retorted, "The same person who picked that awful cummerbund." Bill retorted, "Hey, the odds of getting caught were negligible, and the shoes matched!" A small, forced laugh escaped Molly. "Nil chance, Bill." Their laughter subsided as they approached the house. Molly pulled out a small ultraviolet flashlight, scanning the wall for alarms. "You take the window, I'll scan the lock." Bill nodded, producing a slim tool from his wallet and deftly working it into the mechanism. "On three," he whispered. "One... two... three!" Unlocking the door, Bill shoved it open, a little too hard, sending it creaking like a rusty hinge. Molly darted inside, her eyes scanning the dimly lit playroom. The birthday table had been cleared, but remnants of chaos – party hats, candy wrappers, and ripped gift paper – filled the space. Together, they descended upon the pile of presents stacked by the back door. Molly grabbed a sack from the heap with a practiced hand, deftly snatching an Xbox and a stack of games, while Bill itemized a Sonic the Hedgehogtype toy and an array of race cars. A faintly audible whistle filled the room as Molly stopped cold, her eyes widening at an enormous teddy bear. "Brb," she mouthed, placing the precious cargo in the sack. Bill raised his eyebrows. "Taking a souvenir now?" "Not a souvenir," Molly grinned, "An investment." The sound of shouting from outside grew nearer, and Molly shot a glance at Bill, panic flitting across her face. "We need to get out NOW!" The pair retreated, leaving carnage in their wake – torn gift wrap and discarded toys – and slipped silently out the window. As they disappeared into the night, the first distant hint of shrill sirens wailed in the distance. "New plan," Bill whispered breathlessly, terse and urgent. "Next time, we stick to the riches of the five-star circuit. No more kiddie parties." Molly laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Agreed, partner. But this teddy bear isn't going to sell itself." With their loot clutched tightly, they blended into the shadows, the night shrugging off their culpability, as if eager to swallow the memory of this high-stakes operation. The distant sirens grew fainter, mocking the once-curious suburban children now pinpointing their mother's new 'little treasure.'