Bill glanced at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. "Come on, Molly, the clock's ticking. We can't be late for the kid's birthday party." Molly, perched on the edge of their rickety ladder, polishes her nail file against the hem of her thigh. "Relax, Bill, we've got time. Worst-case scenario, we miss the show and have to listen to Sweet Caroline on repeat for another hour." Bill rolls his eyes. "This better be worth it, Molly. I've got a bad feeling about this one." Molly pokes her head above the window, scanning the backyard for signs of life. "Oh, I don't know, I think we're going to do just fine. Just look at all those shiny presents under that rickety old tree." Bill climbs silently up the ladder beside her, his eyes scanning the patchy lawn and the garish decorations. "You think those kind of parties ever go unnoticed? We should've stuck to the art museums." Molly snorts. "Art museums? Please. I'd rather rob a craft store any day. At least there's some skill involved here. Besides, who suspects a little party crash? We make our move, grab the loot, and split. Easy peasy." Bill grunts, extracting a grappling hook from his belt. "You say that now..." Molly lowers her voice as a group of adults chattering nearby begins to close in. "Alright, listen up. When I give the signal, we make ourselves at home. You grab gifts, I'll keep the crowd occupied." Bill raises an eyebrow. "And how do you plan on doing that?" Molly winks, taking a swig from her flask. "I've got a couple of party tricks up my sleeve." A moment later, the adults laugh as if hypnotized by the sight of Molly bouncing a beach ball off the_slide door. Bill bellows with laughter as he wades into the fray, pinching gifts from beneath the makeshift Christmas tree, stuffing them into a backpack. Molly jumps onto a raft, pedaling away as children gasp — her hair swishing like a banshee's to the background tune of Macarena. Their eyes meet as Bill hoists himself over the windowsill. "Ready when you are!" "Molly's Magical Mayhem Marathon — coming to an end! Your last chance to win a prize!" she calls out, launching the ball skyward. Bill throws the final wrapped gadget into the sack, which dangles precariously from his arm as he leaps over the sill. He expertly hooks the grappling hook onto the balcony, swinging himself up and over the side of the house. On the ground, Molly grabs the backpack, sending it flying toward Bill. It lands with a plop at his feet as they trade Rifles for the stolen loot. Adrenaline pumping, they dash through the darkened neighborhood until their breaths return to normal, as they collapse on a lumpy park bench. Molly opens the backpack, revealing the glittering collection of children's treasures. Bill squints in the moonlight, reading a tiny tag. "Looks like we've got ourselves a Nintendo Switch... and a bicycle horn... and a commemorative plate from Aunt Irma's last golf tournament?" Molly lets out a delighted cackle. "Isn't it just the perfect haul? Tomorrow, we'll have the best display of petty thievery in all of suburbia." Bill groans, shaking his head. "Molly, we need to lay low for a while. The mob might start looking for us." Molly bats her lashes, a devilish grin playing on her lips. "Nonsense, Bill. By the time they figure it out, we'll be playing poker with their presents." She winks, tucking the flask into her purse. Bill shakes his head, chuckling. "You're a menace, you know that?" Molly leans in, whispering, "And that's why I'm priceless." Together, they vanish into the night.