Molly sipped her mojito, eyeing the sprawling estate from across the pool. Bill lounged next to her, twirling a toothpick between his fingers. "This is a piece of cake," he drawled. "Kid party, easy pickings." "Let's not get cocky," Molly replied. "Stealing from munchkins requires finesse. The weepies are almost as bad as the cops." Bill snorted. "Munchkins, weepies - your lingo never fails to amuse me. But you're right, it'll take some skill not to get mobbed by a gaggle of pint-size brats. Who's the mark?" "Mandy P. McPrissypants, daughter of the senator," Molly said. "Napoleon complex, born with a silver spoon equivalent of a blast-from-the-past lava lamp. Will be the death of her. I can already picture the chaos." "I'll let you run the distraction," Bill offered. "Throw the brats off our scent with some hokey magic tricks or pony rides while I do my thing." "Ha! My distractions are top notch, but no promises. It's elementary-school inception - the kids will be half asleep in a sugar coma." Bill grinned. "Dynamite. Then let's iron out the details. I'll case the joint, sniff out the valuables, and crack the safe --" "No safes, just a mountain of overpriced Sparkles the Unicorn Barbie wannabes," Molly interjected. "Right. Whatever. All those bourgeois presents stuffed under the tree - I'll run it all. You just keep the rug rats at bay with your vaudevillian nonsense." "Deal. But you might want to bone up on your improv skills," Molly said. "I have a feeling this job is about to get a whole lot weirder."