“Alright, Bill, listen up. This here’s a golden opportunity,” Molly pressed against the fence, peering into the brightly lit backyard. “Seems a bit…basic, don’t you think?” Bill squinted through his sunglasses. “I mean, presents? At a kids’ party?” “Basic, schbasic. Those parents are dropping serious cash on those toys. Enough to keep us in scotch and caviar for a month!” Bill scoffed. “You really think anyone would go that far? They’ll blow a gasket if even a box of crayons goes missing.” “Don’t underestimate the depths of human desperation, my dear Bill. They love those goddamn miniature drones more than their own children.” “Well, how are we planning to pull this off? Unless you're thinking of hiring a troupe of trained squirrels, I don't see how we're going to.” Molly brandished a pair of oversized, inflatable dinosaur costumes. “We're going in as entertainment. You think those little tykes are gonna suspect a thing?” “I think Miss Fluffybottom over there might suspect something if she finds a pair of greasy fingers hiding amongst her Legoland.” “She’ll be too busy swatting at your inflatable tail to notice.”