The flickering neon sign of "Chuck E. Cheese" bathed the grimy alley in an uneven, sickly glow. Molly, perched precariously on a rickety dumpster, squinted at the window of the party room across the street. "Birthday boy's eight," she muttered, her voice a low rasp, "And judging by the number of balloons, this is a goddamn symphony of sugar." Bill, a portly man with a handlebar mustache that drooped like a wilted sunflower, adjusted the oversized Mickey Mouse ears that were now his trademark. "You're telling me. I can smell the cake from here." Molly snorted, "You think that's the worst of it? They've got that awful animatronic band playing." "Ugh," Bill shuddered, "I swear those things could make a tax audit sound like a rock concert." "Well, the good news is they're all too busy being mesmerized by the mice to notice us," Molly said, pulling a pair of bolt cutters from her bag. "And the bad news?" "That the parents probably have all their credit cards in their wallets." Bill said, his voice dripping with mock despair. "Exactly," Molly chuckled, "So we need to be smooth as a baby's bum and quick as a… well… quick as a baby's bum on a sugar bender." "Smooth as a baby's bum?" Bill furrowed his brow. "Are you sure you didn't just get that off a toddler's coloring book?" "Don't you judge my metaphors, Bill. Now, back to business. I figure we hit the gift table first, snatch everything that isn't glued down. I'm thinking we can get out of here before the parents even realize their little darlings have been robbed blind." Bill let out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a dying walrus. "Robbed blind, you say? By a couple of grizzled old crooks with a taste for stolen Nerf guns? Now that's ironic." "It's comedic gold, Bill," Molly said, beaming, "Don't you ever let them tell you this line of work isn't lucrative." "Right," Bill said, already eyeing the window, "So, you gonna tell me how we're getting in?" Molly grinned mischievously. "I have a plan, Bill. Just like I have a talent for making those silly hats disappear." She winked. Bill, despite himself, couldn't help but smile. "You're a bad influence, Molly, you know that?" "It's the sugar, Bill," Molly said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "You'll thank me later." Bill, still staring at the brightly lit party room, muttered under his breath, "Thank her later? Don't let the children see what you're doing, especially after that ridiculous hat escapade at the kindergarten." He shuddered at the memory. "We might never live it down."