The van's interior was dimly lit as Molly and Bill huddled over the schematic of the Packard house, planning their next big heist. "A children's birthday party - are you sure about this?" Bill asked skeptically, adjusting his black knit cap. Molly's green eyes flashed with mischief as she ran her fingers through her jet black hair. "A whole house full of Rolex watches and diamond earrings, just waiting to be liberated. We'd be crazy not to hit this place." "But it's for a kid's party. Isn't that a little crass, even for us?" "Oh please, spare me the moralizing. These trust fund brats are never going to miss that shit. We're like Robin Hoods, just with better weaponry." Bill let out a long sigh. "Okay fine, I'm in if you really think it's worth the risk. What's the plan?" "Party starts at 5 pm. I picked the lock on the shed door last night. We slip in, smash the piggy bank, and pistol-whip the parents. In and out in 20 minutes, tops. Baby can't find his new gilded rattle? Boo hoo." "You're a cold bitch, you know that?" Bill shook his head and pulled on his black gloves. "Alright champ, lead the way. Let's rob some rich snots." They approached the shed, guns drawn, as a chorus of chubby-cheeked rugrats shrieked with delight from the backyard. Molly produced a crowbar. She heaved and strained, but the lock wouldn't budge. "I could've sworn..." Suddenly an ear-splitting wail pierced the air. Bill whirled to see a fat-faced three-year-old waddling toward them, finger raised to point. "Mommy! Mommy!" Molly spun around and pistol whipped the toddler across the face. He crumpled in a sobbing heap. "Christ," Bill hissed. "Calmly now. You see these sugary commandos start heading over." A mob of howling grommets stampeded towards them, faces smeared with cake like rabid cubs, the mother orchestraling from the end. Molly flung a smoke canister. The yard dissolved in a milky haze. Toting bulging duffel bags, they jigged to the side gate, heads ducking as the birthday boy's snot-nose mother emptied a twelve gauge overhead. Molly kicked the van in gear. Bill slammed it into reverse and they jolted into the street. "Wait!" Molly screamed. "The presents!" She scrambled into the back, polyvinyl sacks mufled her curses. Bill eyed their haul. A soiled toilet duck, a Playskool hammer, a dismembered teddy bear... Molly emerged looking stricken. "Bill...I think the kid knocks off the presents early. Shits on something shiny, and then we wrestled this crap from his hands." Bill threw up his hands. "Un-fucking-believeable. Half a year casing that snot hutch for a Ziploc of pabber." "Tell me you got some good identity theft or these Christmas cards!" Bill wanted to weep as Molly's eyes went wide and darty. He pictured the bastard bankers smirking at his account. "Why you hit the kid? For real this time!" "I didn't mean to! The twit waddled right into it!" Molly seethed. "C'mon, pull over. Half block down is a pregnant teen crisis center. Maybe we can pawn the fetal scrap for meth, yeah?"