Molly and Bill sat in the dingy back room of the dive bar, hunched over a greasy table littered with beer bottles and cigar butts. The charge of adrenaline crackled in the air as they hatched their plan. "So here's the deal," Molly said, jabbing a finger at a crumpled map of the park. "The annual Mayor's Children's Christmas Carnival. Rich folks from all over the city will be there, bleeding money to charity." "Those greedy bastards," Bill snorted. "I bet the gifts they're showering little Timmy and Suzie with would feed the starving for weeks." "We're talking laptops, designer clothes, the latest toys... platinum credit limits maxed out on this," Molly agreed. "If we can get in, grab the haul, and get out clean, we're set for a while." "Huh." Bill scratched his beard, considering. "Is this the brain trust scheming again? Because that thing ain't got two working synapses these days, Mol." "To hell with you. It'll work as long as we do it smart." She glared at him until he held up his hands. "Alright, alright! What's the scheme, then?" "Okay. The shindig is in three weeks. We've got time. First, I'll get a job working the party. Decoration coordinator or some shit. Won't be hard." "'Cause you got such a way with balloons." Bill smirked. "Piss off. Then, on the big day, you'll come in with the DJ equipment for the kiddie dance party. Get wired up to the sound system. Here's where my beautiful mind comes in - we'll hotwire the entire contraption to a laptop. Mic up the presents, boom mics underneath 'em." Bill raised an eyebrow. "I'm with ya." "We make it sound like the kids are screaming and shrieking when they open the gifts. Y'know, 'MOMMY I LOVE YOUUU!!! THE HOBBIT MONOPOLY IS THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLDLL!!'" "More like you scream and shriek and mashed the laptop keys like a crackhead," Bill muttered. "Oh shut your pie hole and let me think. So we do sound effects, tears, all that shit. The parents'll be so wrapped up, we can just tee up some boxes, stuff those puppies, and march the shit right out." "Okay. I'm listening," Bill said. "But we still gotta get in and out without triggering an alarm or getting stopped. That MIDI music shit ain't gonna fool everyone forever." "Ah, that's the beauty part," Molly crowed. "We tint the windows on the moving van black. Stake out back stage, hook up some strobe lights, project pre-recorded crying and screaming. The parents will bust in, gagged for their kids, and we ride off the fuckin' rails." Bill whistled. "That's some solid work. You're gettin' your mad criminal scientist act together, Mol." "Don't make me go all Dr. Frankenstein on your ass," she warned. "There's still logistics. Need to finesse the wiring, make sure my aunt's van is ready, and I need a backup plan if this shit gets figured out. Who knows what cuz is capable of these days." "Sad to say, I get it," Bill sighed. "He's a loose fuckin' cannon." "He's psychopathic." Molly nodded. "But we'll work that knuckle-fucker over later. For now, it's time to give some greedy-ass parents a crash course in how to properly appreciate the season of giving."