The alley reeked of stale pizza and desperation. Not the kind of desperation that comes with a broken heart – or even a broken bank account – but the kind that smells vaguely of cheap cologne and panic. Molly adjusted the feather boa around her neck, meticulously straightening each iridescent plume with the precision of a heart surgeon. Her sequined dress, cut low and shimmering under the flickering streetlight, was a stark contrast to the grimy brick walls surrounding them. Bill, crouched beside a overflowing dumpster, was struggling to squeeze his bulk into a luau shirt, two sizes too small. "Are you sure about this, Moll?" He puffed, wrestling with a particularly stubborn button. "Kids' parties? What am I, a monster?" "Don't be ridiculous," Molly said, rolling her eyes. "It's not like we're robbing a hospital. Besides, think of the loot?" She gestured vaguely with a bejeweled hand. "The sheer volume! We're talking about potentially hundreds of Beanie Babies, action figures, maybe even a pony made of solid gold." Bill finally managed to button the shirt, his face reddening in protest. He looked like a flamingo who'd raided a five-year-old's wardrobe. "Gold pony? Come on, Moll, where does that even come from?" Molly shrugged, unfazed. "Just, you know, possibilities. You gotta think big, Bill. Big picture." Bill sighed. “Fine, fine, but if I end up wrestling a sugar-crazed toddler for a My Little Pony, you're buying the tequila. Strong stuff. Molly grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Deal. Speaking of tequila," she said, pulling a lollipop from her purse. "Pre-game fuel." Bill grimaced. "Seriously? Cherry?" "It's organic," Molly shot back, already unwrapping the candy. "Supporting local businesses, promoting ethical practices – it's part of the heist philosophy." “Right,” Bill muttered, taking the lollipop cautiously. "Because nothing says 'ethical' like stealing Christmas presents from unsuspecting children.” Molly chuckled. "Don't be a Scrooge. Think of the joy. We'll be bringing smiles to the faces of collectors everywhere. Those toys deserve to be appreciated, not buried under a pile of discarded wrapping paper." She popped the lollipop in her mouth, its saccharine sweetness a stark contrast to the metallic taste of anticipation. Tonight was more than just a heist; it was an act of artistic redistribution. Molly adjusted her boa again, a triumphant smile softening her features. It was time to show these kids what a real party was all about. A party filled with booming bass, a glint of sequins under the disco ball, and the satisfying rustle of loot nestled in a well-worn duffel bag. Tonight, the children of Providence wouldn't sleep soundly in their beds. They'd learn a valuable lesson – never underestimate a seasoned professional with a penchant for glitter and a weakness for cherry lollipops. Bill, meanwhile, was eyeing a stray cat with suspicion. "You think it'll rat us out?" he hissed, his voice barely a whisper. Molly scoffed, "Please. This is going to be a masterpiece. They'll never see us coming.”