Molly and Bill hunched over a huge table map of funhouse at the children's museum. Tunnels, ball pits, mazes, and cages were marked with precision. "Alright, I still think it's a bad idea robbing a kid's birthday party," said Bill, lighting a cigarette. "Too risky, too many civilians." "You're just scared of costumed mascots," Molly replied, tracing a line on the map with her finger. "This is the score of a lifetime - 20 overprivileged brats with more loot than Rapunzel's tower. Gold, jewels, the latest gadgets. We'll be set for life." "Maybe so, but I've seen that mascot. He's 8 feet tall with antlers and claws. My shrink says I have anthropomorphic trauma." "There's no such thing as anthropomorphic tra-" "Yes there is! I Googled it. Point is, Fluffy the Furry Faced Ferret could snap me in two." "Calm down, we'll gas the place and then-" "Kidnappin' and druggin' children now? Have you no shame?" "Dear lord, no. Gas the mascot. Roofies. Roofie punch. Get it? Punch bowl?" Bill gave her his best "oh you're a regular riot" look. "New plan - one of us waltzes in the back like a sexy kitty cat burglar, the other makes a diversion at the front." "Fine. You do front. What's your talent? Stripping?" "Ha! I'll strip the hooray in a Hefty sack, you-" "Don't say Hefty sack in this establishment you pig. So... you have no idea what you're doing." "Oh shut up." He exhaled, smoke curling around him romantically. "I'll be a sexy clown. Distractions are my-" "No you won't." "Why, because I'm no clown? That's it, isn't it? Well excuse me, Ms. High and Mighty Thighs. You think I can't be a clown?" A savage clicking noise echoed through the cold warehouse walls. Molly slowly spun a revolver and let it click hollowly onto the table between them. "You really wanna play make-believe with this?" Bill wet his lips and smiled back the wrong kind of smile for the situation. "Darlin', you know I can't resist a pretty face. But I do love a lady packing a piece in her garter."