The Present Predicament By J.H. Abbott Molly sashayed across the dimly lit room, her chic black catsuit hugging every tantalizing curve. She sauntered over to the leather sofa where her partner-in-crime Bill sprawled, his ruggedly handsome face illuminated by the glow of his laptop screen. He didn't even acknowledge her approach, fingers still tapping furiously at the keys. "Bill, darling, done hacking that security system yet?" Molly purred, perching a hip on the armrest and draping an arm over his shoulders. "We don't want to be late for little Timmy's birthday bash, now do we?" With a frustrated growl, Bill closed the lid of his laptop with a resounding THWAP. "Our target ain't no sweet little boy's party, it's the vault in the toy store next to his crib that is chock full of the latest extravagant kiddie gifts. Those are the presents we're after to fill our stockings this Christmas." Molly rolled her eyes at Bill's petulant tone. "I know all about the audacious heist we've got planned, bucko. Just trying to keep things lighthearted. But if we're gonna do this, we need a cover story. Can't waltz into a kiddie party talking about smash-and-grabs. This requires finesse!" Bill shrugged her arm off and rose to his feet, straightening his burglar belt. "Cover story, huh? I got an idea..." He began pacing, his bushy mustache twitching thoughtfully. "Ever hear of that famous lady crime novelist, what's-her-face?" "You mean Agatha Christie?" Molly scoffed. "I could write her under the table if I wanted to!" "No, you dope. The other crime author. Ah hell, nevermind. I'll think of something." Bill shook his head. "Anyway, we'll just tell 'em you're a famous crime author doing 'research' on a new story. You'll schmooze the rich parents, get a lay of the land, etc." "Ha! You want ME to play the virtuous writer? In this?" Molly gestured to her skin-tight outfit with an incredulous wave of her jewel-encrusted fingers. "I'll never get away with it in this get-up. I've got a plenty of FORBIDDEN fruits waiting to be plucked if you know what I mean! Look for me on page 88 of that latest bodice ripper you swiped last week..." "Molly, knock it off!" Bill interjected with a bark of laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Okay, fine. Just toss on a cloak or something for appearance's sake. And pipe down on the sexy talk, would ya? This calls for subtlety, remember?" "All right, all right, you win this round," Molly acquiesced with a haughty sniff. "I'll immerse myself in the realms of-fontawesome and brooding intrigue as Miss Christie's greatest text. But if there's stockings themselves to be had, I'd sure love to leave a few more than lumps of coal in them to fill things out..."