Molly paced around the corner booth in the dingy café, the yellowed walls emanating tobacco smoke, as she whispered into a scratched cellphone, "Bill, you won't believe it, they're hosting a birthday bash for some rich kid's tenth birthday. Thirty, no forty presents, all expensive looking. It's a mom's dream party, and we're gonna make it our cash cow." Bill leaned back, sipping his lukewarm coffee, "Forty presents? For ten kids? What're the parents thinking? The parents will have better luck trying to teach kids to share than hoard loot that'd make Blackbeard jealous." "I know, right?" Molly replied, "Anyway, we run in, grab the swag, and run back to the van in ninety seconds. We won't need disguises; they're all wearing garish costumes. Perfect camouflage." Bill's eyes widened, "What's the venue like? Access points?" "Small, two gates, they're always unlocked, in case of emergency. We'll be in and out like ninjas." "No security cameras?" "Not that I can see. It's a community center with old, rotten wood and empty rooms – we'll blend, don't you worry." "When?" Bill asked, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Saturday at 2 PM, the height of the cake-eating frenzy. No one'll notice the sudden drop in attendance until it's all over." "That's perfect." Bill looked at the wallpaper peeling from the muggy conditions, "We're in, just so long as we're quick. What if a kid spots us? We can't exactly tell them, 'Sorry, kid, you'll need to be less observant next time.'" "Really, Bill? No need to worry. I've got combat therapy puppets for both of us. They're attention hogs and will quiet any brat with a magic show." Molly chuckled, "And we'll donate a toy or two to show we've got a heart, you know, for good local PR." He chuckled, "Ah, Molly, always the humanitarian. The van's gonna be stuffed, where'd you snatch those puppets?" "From a clown, of course, who had more than he needed. I convinced him they'd make a better stage presence with us." "And we're the ones who will tame the rage of small fists clutching their stolen loot?" "Exactly. But, listen, we'll start at opposite ends of the hall, grab by sight and sprint to the van. No time to check for GameBoys, so once we're in Aisle B, you grab anything blue, and I'll get pink until we meet for the thieving grand finale." "Got it. What about the thug birthday boy and girl?" Molly waved her hand dismissively, "They'll be too busy for some fairy-tale theme. We'll snout out the gifts from under their noses. They won't even feel the pinch. Of course, if they start to whine, a puppet will help them forget." Bill guffawed, "You've thought it all through, prs- pfft-sect, but how do we get our hands on these b-day kids' sets?" "Target the parents. We'll lurk around them, always endearing smiles and 'helping hands', and snatch what we want." "Sounds like a plan. We'll have to stick close to the doors, just in case." "Which also means," Molly added, "if you're hungry, eat well ahead of time. No time for bathroom breaks or we'll be caught trying to waltz in and out with our pants down." "I've got it. What'll we do with the presents once we're loaded?" "We'll divvy it all up at our hideout. Sell 'em to the pawn shop or fence 'em right away, just think of the dough! This might be our big break, Bill." "Riches would be sweet, and sweet they shall be," Bill said, lifting his coffee cup in a toast. Molly raised her water glass playfully, "Cheers to our finest hour and a kids' party magpie, plucking gifts from the fantasies of their dreams, without even batting an eyelash." "A cinch if ever there was one." Bill's mouth twisted into a smirk, "Kids. You can't take them seriously at the best of times. They'll be too busy cramming cake in their faces to notice anything's missing." "Let's just hope they don't lace the cake with laxatives," Molly joked, taking a sip. She winked, "This'll be a cakewalk. And I'll be right behind the cake anyway." Bill smiled, "Let's sharpen up the puppets, then, and we're ready to go. Molly, you've done it again. Keeps me laughing all the way to the bank." "Oh, Bill," Molly sighed dramatically, "alas, witty banter and guts simply can't be taught. Our heist will go down as a children's tale."