The 3:10 to Yonkers Bill slouched against the wall of the alley, the sounds of children's laughter and pop music echoing from the brightly lit house across the street. He checked his watch. "We go in five." Molly, nervously adjusting her too-small police uniform, nodded. "I can't believe we're really doing this. Hitting a kid's birthday party? It's beyond low." "Relax," Bill said. "The place will be crawling with brats. They'll never miss a few presents." He patted the black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "I still think this is messed up, man. What kinda sick freak gets their jollies robbing a 10-year-old?" "The kind making off with a bunch of Xboxes and giant stuffed unicorns. C'mon, the kid's loaded. He won't miss a few gifts." Molly sighed. "No chick flicks though. I hate those sentimental bastards. You know I'm allergic to sappy." Bill chuckled. "You're not allergic to untraceable cash, are you? C'mon Gadget, grow a pair. Wouldn't wanna waste my time if you're just gonna choke." Molly scowled. "Shove it, Bill. I can pull my weight." "Yeah? Then quit jakein' and let's move." Shouldering their bags, they approached the house and rang the bell. The door flew open. A matronly woman stood with arms open, a broad grin plastered across her powdered face. "Well hello officers! How can I help you boys today?" Molly stiffened. Bill flashed a smile. "Evening ma'am. Little Timmy been gettin' into trouble again?" "Terrific! Silly goose tried to beanbag Annie again." She turned and called inside, "Timothy James Edison III, front and center! The po-po's here!" A pudgy faced boy trudged forward and stood before them arms crossed. "I TOLD MOMMY I SHARED MY Fritos so it's fair I hit her with my Nerf cause that's the RULES!" Bill's eyes sparkled. Nice to know the rugrat deserved it. He grabbed a backpack off a peg. Scarlett Letterman. He peeked inside. Craphole full of toothyCSI stuff. Tossing it to Molly, he plucked the next, its Hello Katy emblazoned in swirly pink lettin'. Chicks' stuff. Moving on. Molly peered into his satchel. Nickname-brand action figure, micro-machine men, a squishy guy... He'd let the tyke keep his Transformers. A man strode up and shook their hands. "Timmy's father. Sorry ma'am, we better not keep the boys. Y'all have your work cut out." Dr. Edison's eyes said uh-oh boy. He should have worn a true-true-true-blue police bitart badge instead of a little pined puny paper nametag. Molly knew it too. He-même nombre blew it. The dude wasn't havin' it. Now Edison knew they weren't the law. Edison fixed them in his pale eyes. The canary caught the worm. Damnit damnit damnit. Bill remained oblivious. Pocketing a Bat-a-Signal now, he crorted to Edison, "Doctor, right? Quite a party you're thrown here Jefe." Eight meaty arms twisted Bill's dreese in deadly right angles. This was no time for tres coolio. Edison thundered, "FUCK. YOU. ASSHOLES." "We'll leave you reboots right here!" they said as Edison's choofed air empilation sent them their seperate ways!