Molly peered through the binoculars, her eyes scanning the backyard bustling with colorful banners and bouncing kids. Beside her, Bill scratched his head, his gaze fixed on the paper map spread across the hood of their rusty van. “I still think it's mad, Molly. Robbing kids? Really?” “It's just a bunch of toys, Bill. Besides, half these tykes won't even notice. Now, hand me the schedule. Timing is everything.” Bill reluctantly passed a crumpled sheet of paper to her. “Here. You sure about this, Molls?” “Of course. We sneak in dressed as clowns during the magic show, swipe the gifts, and vanish before cake. Easy.” Bill frowned under his bushy mustache. “I dunno. I’ve never been a decent clown.” “Just keep the balloon animals pumping, and you’ll be fine,” Molly reassured him, folding the map with precision. Glancing up at the festive scene, she continued, “Look at all those presents, just sitting there by the Ezbo tent. No guards. It’s like they’re begging to be taken.” Bill sighed, watching a child smack a piñata with a stick. “Piñata's loaded, too. Candy and toys. So we grab that as well?” “Nah, stick to the plan, Bill. Just the presents. We’re not monsters.” They watched as parents cheerfully chatted, oblivious to the criminal masterminds plotting mere feet away. A clown exited a car, juggling colorful balls, drawing laughs from the encircling children. “That’ll be us soon,” Molly noted, lowering the binoculars. “You got the clown outfits?” Bill nodded, pointing to the back of the van where two garishly bright costumes lay sprawled. “Yep, got them from that garage sale. Even found a squirting flower and a honking nose.” Molly grinned. “Perfect. We’ll fit right in. No one suspects a clown.” “Speak for yourself,” Bill muttered, eyeing the tight outfit with suspicion. "I hope this thing stretches." Molly chuckled. “You’ll live. Now let’s go over it once more. We join the party right after the magic show starts. I’ll handle the gift table; you create distractions. I’ve packed extra glitter bombs and stink bombs for emergencies.” “Got it,” Bill said, pulling on his oversized clown shoes. “What's the signal to bug out?” Molly winked. “When you hear me honk twice, be ready to run. We throw the gifts in the van and vamoose down to the old mill road.” Clad in polka dots and absurd wigs, they made a peculiar pair. Molly checked her face paint in the mirror, adjusting her fake red nose. "Remember, Bill, keep your cool and stick to the plan.” “Right,” Bill nodded, practicing his honking. Each squeak seemed to bolster his confidence. As they approached the garden gate, Molly gave her partner a nudge. “You ready to crash this party?” “As ready as I'll ever be. Let’s make these kids an offer they can’t refuse,” Bill joked, a nervous flutter in his voice. Molly suppressed a laugh, fixing her clown hat. “It’s showtime.” With a collective deep breath, they stepped into the laughter and chaos, two clowns on a mission, weaving through the crowd with a singular, albeit dubious, goal. The heist had begun.