The heist. Molly and Bill huddled over the blueprints, discussing their daring plan. "So, you're saying we just walk into a kid's birthday party, torch the place, and waltz out with a sack full of presents?" Bill said with a crooked grin. "Brilliant." "I thought you'd never ask," Molly replied with matching smile. She jabbed a finger at the security diagram. "According to the invitation, they're hoarding the loot in the garage. Two guards, both riding a powder day. Piece of cake." "Could get messy, if the brats get wise. Don't much like the sound of a room full of screaming rug rats." "Oh, have you no festive cheer? It's a smash and grab." Molly winked. "One way ticket to Grepgate Island, island of lost toys. We bushwack the booty and split." Bill scratched his neck. "Say, ain't it kinda low, knocking over a kid's party?" She scoffed. "In for a dime, in for a dollar. Besides..." Her eyes narrowed. "This is nothing. The real prize is in that safe, mistress of the manor. Inherited fortune. Ganja for days, if the hand is right." "Safe and sound in the ligneous landmass - 10 to 1 it's a kiddie piggy bank. All quartzes and zeny." "Nah. Kinda fucks the pethic." Bill shrugged. "Shrug. Charge is ignoble but the peth is substantial if it's on the up." Molly gathered up her blueprints. "I say we get the jump on it before the witches boned up and start the meat fest. Hash out the rest later." "Rrroooaaaar," Bill agreed. They had been partners so long, no more words were needed. In time for the cake cutting, Molly and Bill skulked out back, both in lamp posts seeking appropriate import for a six-year old boy festoon. Bill made a triangle in his eyes to finger-time the barrel. Molly high-fived him. The count was go. Lamppost chaps pulled ski masks over mugs and hitting out back windows - glass tinkling foolery - grading on garage door timer. Environmental scan - the coast was clear. Bill jimmied the lock - delicate art form, brush on window sash and a roadmap to the drone. Molly fanned the room - rifles de rigueur. Ripped out the look, had the swat secure in eight figure larks. Both dipped in begloved brats - sooner to lique on the flax. Blip blip, bill hit the flood - eyes to the glinting oasis against the wandering wall. Pilly-willy cavalcade: dresses, ballies, boardgamery, chokes and enemy joy roundly. More borks than bellions at a jell sale. "Hssst!" Molly gestured the swoop of the thing. Bill scooped up with a grin as wide as a tombstone. Kids screaming in the next room - near enough time. When there was naught left beyond wood and crepe paper, Polly heft up her roll in Bill. "Outa here Bill - I'll dew on the uso-duce. Cover the window, I'll float the treat floaties." Slinked along the haul to fence corner of quadarangle through iron bars. Dropped the diptries in the pipe, scampered over the roodarumble to the aire. Naturel corsks and silli painter gave them an icy geliginer to stuff the cake and fruit in the gartherole glove. Bill blasted the ziplock as the bubble carbs transisted the grushi peater. Video came on - lucklily both wore grues. Jet paved the roadster as the torpeduvpungue igłuaced back in it. Bentzent...the yields of plunder to refigering rookie sports and marlamallows...then bak to businee. Mission accomplishd. "Tough racket, ain't it?" She gave queer beamer, but he caught her wink. Next one already... or was it the flipped back up fence? Hard to figger. Molly sulked on plood tray or parch. "Long road ahead of us," Bill mused, "before our check is cashable."