Molly slammed the folder onto the table, scattering photos of giggling toddlers across the worn surface of their hideout. "Alright, I've got the intel." Bill leaned back, balancing precariously on the two rear legs of his chair. "Lay it on me, Moll." "Operation Sugar Rush is a go. The Johnson's annual birthday bash for their little terrors. This Saturday, 2 p.m. sharp. Bouncy castle, magician, the whole nine yards." "Sounds delightful. Almost makes me want to wear my good socks." Molly shot him a withering look. "Focus, Bill. We're here for the loot, and trust me, these rich brats get showered in gifts." "Right, right, the loot. What kind of security we talking? Guard dogs? Motion sensors? Ninjas disguised as clowns?" "Don't be ridiculous. It's a children's party, not Fort Knox. Security detail is two bored teenagers glued to their phones." "Piece of cake then. We just waltz in like Mary Poppins and her umbrella stand, fill our sacks, and make a clean getaway." Molly snorted. "That's your plan? Casual stroll amongst the juice boxes?" Bill shrugged. "Hey, subtlety's my middle name. Right after 'Ocean' and before 'Eleven'." "You don't have a middle name, Bill." "Exactly! Makes me unpredictable. Now, about these costumes… I’m thinking a convincing clown. Or maybe a giant diaper-clad baby. Guaranteed to blend right in." "Absolutely not. One word, Bill: Creepy." Molly slapped another photograph on the table, this one depicting a woman with an impossibly high ponytail and a whistle around her neck. "We’re going in as entertainers. Face painting and balloon animals." Bill grimaced. “You want me to make balloon animals? My artistic talents extend to drawing stick figures and forging signatures.” “Don't worry, I'll handle the artistry. You just need to distract the parents with your… charm.” “While you stuff their precious offspring's presents down your pants?” Molly smiled, a touch wicked. “Not down my pants. We'll bring duffel bags. Themed ones. Unicorns and rainbows, very inconspicuous.” Bill chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, Moll, you’ve convinced me. Operation Sugar Rush is a go. But if we get roped into singing "Happy Birthday", I’m out.”