Molly and Bill sat huddled in their getaway van parked outside the suburban home. Confetti straws and paper streamers fluttered on the front yard lampposts in the cool evening breeze. "It's real swell of Patsy to throw herself such a chaotic soiree," Molly said, licking her lipgloss. "All those brats running hootin' and hollerin', gives us the perfect cover to lift the loot." Bill checked his pistol under his denim jacket and nodded in agreement. "Those kids won't know what hit 'em after we're through. Probably too busy stuffing their noiseholes with cake." "You're a regular riot, dollface. All right, let's tea-leaf those toy boxes." Strolling up the sidewalk, the grifters slipped through the side gate, eyes scanning. Small bodies tumbled about the backyard - chubby tushes, plastic sunglasses, juiceboxes in tiny fists. A hard-drinking clown applied temporary tattoos to screeching girls in frilly dresses. The scene was nearing its frenzied peak under the kilowatt bulb of a jaunty tilted jellybean-shaped bouncy castle. Ears ringing from the cocktail of furious children and rock-a-billy birthday tunes, the thieves struck, seizing armfuls of colorfully wrapped gifts from under the gifts table before slinking back into the night. The balding clown cheerfully juggled three overjoyed giggling girls (and his Rolex), never missing a beat at his show. The arched exit of the inflatable Astro Worm slid brazen Molly and Bill's swiped swipes into the hearsenodex, the white mother ship of last ditch heists. Bill popped the trunk, and seventy pounds of sugar-addled joy scampered into waiting bags. Throwing the gears, eyes on the red, Molly chuckled. "We've got more loot than Fairbanks and Flynn hocked the Ark."