Molly cased the perimeter of the brightly decorated backyard, her eyes darting between the towering bounce house and the glittering pile of presents. Bill joined her, munching on a stolen cocktail weenie. "You know, Bill, this couldn't be more perfect. A bunch of ankle-biters too busy with cake to notice their gifts walking away." Bill, stifling a snicker, nodded. "Classic misdirection. But we've got one problem, Mol. That clown's not just twisting balloons." Molly followed his gaze to the neon-haired entertainer, who was indeed juggling flaming pins between balloon animals. "Right. We need a diversion. Any ideas?" "I'm thinking... sugar rush," Bill said, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "You're not suggesting..." "Oh, I am. We spike the punch with espresso, and while the kiddos are bouncing off the walls, we swoop in, grab the goods, and vanish." Molly raised an eyebrow. "That's your master plan? Over-caffeinate a bunch of six-year-olds? What could possibly go wrong?" Bill shrugged, popping another weenie into his mouth. "Trust me, Mol. It's foolproof." "Famous last words," Molly muttered, but she was already scanning the table for the punch bowl. "Alright, let's do this. But if we end up causing a national incident, I'm blaming you." With a roll of her eyes and a smirk, Molly reached into her pocket, producing a small vial of potent espresso. "Let's give those kids the buzz of their lives." As they tiptoed toward their target, the clown, oblivious, continued his fiery performance, the children's laughter masking the thieves' soft footsteps. Molly and Bill, the unlikeliest of partners, moved with a practiced ease, their eyes locked on the prize. The heist was on.