Molly paced the gritty linoleum floor of their hideout, her impatience buzzing like a live wire. Bill, perched on a wobbly office chair, was meticulously etching plans onto a napkin, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked up, sighing dramatically, as Molly threw herself onto a threadbare armchair. "Alright, spill it. Details," Molly snapped, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. Bill tapped a finger on the napkin. "It's next Saturday, 4 p.m. sharp. Little Timmy's fourth birthday bash at the Parks Recreation Center. Apparently, his parents are rolling in dough, judging by the Amazon returns flagged on the getaway driver's intel. We're talking designer scooters, top-of-the-line toy kitchens, the works." Molly bounced to her feet, her smile widening. "Sounds like Christmas morning exploded in a land of sugar-high chaos. I'm in!" Bill looked skeptical. "That's not the only problem. There's a clown." Molly's smile faltered. "A clown? You mean Giggles the Goofball? I saw him at the petting zoo last week. That guy's got a permanent case of the giggle fits, and he smells suspiciously of hot dogs and disappointment." "That's what the intel says. He's on hostage duty, apparently. Watching the kids so the parents can grab some lukewarm punch." "Well, that's just sad. Imagine forced to endure the 'laugh tracks' for four hours straight. No wonder he smells like a broken pretzel." Molly shuddered. Bill leaned forward, his voice low. "My plan is simple. We hit the supply closet around 3:30. That's where they stash the diaper bags and the bulk of the presents. I'll handle the clown distraction. You grab the goodies and we hotfoot it out. "Sounds a little thin on details," Molly said, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you won't get pinched by the clowns shoes? I swear those things are neon-sized and smell stronger than a week-old cheese." Bill scoffed. "Fear not, my dear. I have a plan for that. Rhymes with 'ameo-noses'. It's all in the execution." A moment of silence passed, broken only by Molly's humming, before she burst out laughing. "Oh, Bill," she said, wiping away a tear, "you're a real hoot. Amelia-noses? What's next? Distracting a guard with a chorus line of dad-dancing hamsters?" "Hey, nothing's off the table," Bill retorted, his grin bordering on manic. "This is a high-stakes operation, Molly. We need to make sure we hit all our sweet spots."