Molly leaned over the fence, peering through the clear plastic sheeting that had been hung to create a makeshift wall. Beyond, a swarm of screaming children in brightly colored clothing darted about the backyard, their laughter piercing through the warm summer air. Tinkling music from a stereo system competed with the squeals and shrieks. "Are you seeing this?" she said to Bill, who crouched beside her. "A regular zoo." "I know. It's like being on the inside of an ADHD pill just looking at it," Bill replied, pushing his brunette wig further down his forehead. The red clown nose attached to his face bobbed as he spoke. They wore matching costumes - a red and white striped onesie replete with oversized shoes and a greasy red nose. Molly's cherry nose honked audibly. She checked their attire was adjusted properly, then peered through the fence again, her eyes scanning ground strewn with presents. Boxes in shiny paper exploded from some kind of monument constructed of legos. Hell of a lot of loot. She mouthed to Bill. "There's our beefcake," he said, eyes on the screaming mass. "Let's bag it." They slipped off their shoes and hopped the fence, padding through the grass, heading for the pile. Molly hummed nervously. It would be a sophisticated move - probably should have done this sober. Bill plucked a present from its peak, stuffing it into his wide, striped pocket. Two large sacks dangled from his arms - one inside the other. Whoops and peppering shrieks rose as they hopped around the corner. "Ah!" said an old woman, dropping a bag of ice alongside two coolers. Her silver hair pulled in a cone-shaped dust-keeper. She took them in, one arm straightening. "Great timing, fellas! Kids are looking for you." "Piece of cake," said Molly, wiggling the box in her arms. She and Bill separated with the loot, moving to polar ends of the yard. On the pile yet remaining, another 30 patents remained. Picking up boxed Playstations, Traceys, Nintendo Wiis, dolls with horse pubes - great haul. A young woman with a princess in the backyard was about to blow out her lights. Some kids land on the pile by now as Molly pulled over the supreme Lego pile onto itself before she could adjust her emblem. Molly and Bill re-converged by the fence, pockets andceptors full of toys. That's how it's done - stealing from the joy of children. Usually in the black market the money was great, but at times you had to put eggs in one basket, and by this good fortune, her oscillating eyes caught on the her approved, who were anywhere as frantic amidst the screaming glee. Pushing their take into rims of the fence through the plastic and they helped bring it back, tearing through the plastic, boosting down their important contents into the risen money car. "Taking kids shit's bad karma," said a dry, hacking cough. They whirled to a gray man, a lit Marlboro oozing from between his lips. His lumpy camo vest made looked to be a polyester-blend number from '98. He kept his land in back pants pockets. "What do you want?" said Molly, in context stilting her voice as deep as possible. "To break a few bones," he said, exhaling a tissue cloud. "Sell my own nephews' shit, that's the deal. No dates otherwise." "No problem," he said, toeing their bags. "That is correct," Bill said, thinning a hard-looking hand to outrun past the man to the car. "Not our game." The wind drifted the scratch 'n' sniff his eyes, snaking past the wedding ring, caught a morbid face in the envelope. Molly recognised it as a morbid whisper: he saw she had no ring. "Lay down," Bill said. The man flicked his cigarette away, licking his lips. "Now you kids listen up, because you're rustling up the wrong tree, now." He pulled into his pockets. "Get down on your knees. Each hand cuffed, face away." They looked at each other, and Molly, a hand glancing down to the things lining her belly, in wideshank. She belted it from her costume, near gouging herself, gears imperceptally. A imitation HK skittered in his camo, clicking, then stopped cold. It was, in addition, permitted. "So do it." Bill racked the bolt. With a PSHIIP the gray man jerked for his. But Bill was quicker, with a tube snaking out from his vest only connected to his divided front pocket. A edge zipe close in his hale hand. It pulled whetever else remained of the emptied box. The springed a bloater hesselling but hanmding over. "No rough stuff," Molly had to shrill. Gears hoiked out, glooped into gray digging his pants. And the tension was broken. "And don't you forget it," said Bill calmly, nodding against the poors guy. The bags lay over the fence, and they were obscured by roots of greet as the engine whirred, the convertible lauched onto their haunches and sped off into traffic with an air full of flags in wind. All below were to benefit of their haunches, hugging.