Molly and Bill huddled in the darkened alley, their eyes darting nervously as they discussed their latest scheme. The distant sound of children's laughter carried on the breeze, reminding them of their target. "You sure about this, Molly?" Bill whispered, his fingers fidgeting with the zipper of his black hoodie. Molly rolled her eyes. "It's foolproof. Kids are easy marks." They crouched behind a dumpster, surveying the colorful balloons tied to the mailbox across the street. A steady stream of gift-bearing parents and excited children flowed into the house. "Remember the plan," Molly hissed. "We wait until they're busy with cake, then we strike." Bill nodded, his brow furrowed with concentration. "And if we get caught?" "We won't," Molly insisted, her voice filled with misplaced confidence. As they waited, the scent of grilled hot dogs wafted towards them, causing Bill's stomach to growl loudly. Molly elbowed him sharply, scowling at the noise. "Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly. The party sounds grew louder, punctuated by the off-key singing of "Happy Birthday." Molly grinned wickedly, gesturing for Bill to follow her lead. "Showtime," she whispered.