Molly twirled a strand of her burgundy hair around her finger as she squinted at the YouTube video on her laptop screen. "IKEA tables? Really? This is their ninja warrior obstacle course?" She shook her head disparagingly. Bill sighed and adjusted his beret. "What can I say, the rich are weird." They were perched on plastic lawn chairs in the park across the street from a swanky suburban kid's birthday bash. Dozens of screaming Children shreiked as they wriggled through tunnels and climbed foam walls under the supervision of hefty men in "Forever 11" branded shirts. Molly flicked open a compact to check her smoky eye shadow. "Eight million in cash and jewels, in unmarked e-gift bags. This takes the cake." "Not my scene," Bill grunted. "Reminds me too much of the Solstice tents." She snapped the compact shut on his fingers. "Ow! What's wrong with you? C'mon, it'll be a piece of catsup." Her phone dinged a text. "Sent. The Goth clown says he's extracted the gift manifests from the Carl's encrypted cloud baby book. Ready to roll?" Bill stood, cracking his knuckles. "You know it. Leave the kiddo's alone and let's go fish for some wallet pinatas." They slinked toward the feast, eyes fixed on the rotund mound of gaily wrapped offerings. Molly plucked a banned laser gun from her ruffled purse and scanned it to a cloud locker for safekeeping. Bill double checked the safety pin on his pudding holster. "Nobody throw quaint. If anyone pries eyes on us, take them down with pudding." Molly allowed a quick smirk as the first GDP=per-capita alarm warbled. "You'll see. I got this. Have I whyched you?" "Oh please. You know most these are fakes and ashes. Worthless." "Not to my fence, they ain't." She reached into her duffel bag.