Molly leaned casually against a nearby alley wall while Bill stood beside her, adjusting the sunglasses that hid their eyes despite the dim night. The industrial park's shadows cloaked them perfectly, hiding their pre-heist jitters. The target was a mere fifty yards away, a bustling children's party inside an old converted warehouse. The continuous bellowing laughter and shouted song lyrics spilled from the place, oblivious to the two sneaking around. Bill dug into a pocket of his coat. "Got the invitations, to blend in," he said, his voice low and dark. He dramatically unveiled two little glittery cards in hand. Molly's face scrunched up. "Glitter on an invitation? They'll have to clean that up for the next ten years," she said, snatching one of the cards from his fingers. "And these outfits?" She indicated the clown noses and boas they'd found, crinkling them in distaste. "The clothes need to match the invitations, darlin'," Bill grinned, adjusting his orange nose. "Won't be out of place for a pirate party." "Wearing a pirate hat in summer. How original," Molly breathed heavily. "You got a better idea?" he smirked. "Never. Let's not forget about the loot." Molly flicked her wrist towards a small U-Haul van parked further away. "We're talking teddy bears, remote-controlled cars, a freakin' Disney princess dress. How do we sort through all that in under five minutes?" Bill leaned in, his voice a hush. "I've got a buggy. Hooks you can attach to anything metal. Gonna yank the toys, strap 'em on. But... we'll need distractions." "That's what you've been working on?" "While you napped." Bill reached into his trench coat sleeve, revealing a small plastic trumpet and a whoopee cushion. "For real?" Molly blurted. "You're supposed to be the brains of this operation." "Not as bad as you sound," Bill defended. "Trumpet, I'll play a false police siren. Kids'll scatter, parents'll follow. Cushion, you hide it under the cake." "Murdering childhood dreams is your plan?" she asked, smirking. "Expert." "Works every time," he replied, unperturbed. "Hope one of us brought the toysack to transport this pile." Molly started rummaging in the back of the van while Bill fumbled with the trumpet. "In the trunk, bottom," Bill answered. She grunted, receiving a large garbage bag and hauling it over. "Cute, you know they guard the presents like they're the doggy-bag options at a Gucci dinner." "We've got earmuffs and compact fireworks for that, Molly. Everyone trusts a clown," Bill whispered, handing her an envelope. "Sparks and sticky stuff, they'll be over the moon in a blink," Molly quipped as she placed the equipment in a junked pocket. After a few tense moments, they shuffled to the entrance, glides cast under the veneer of clumsy dancing. Sliding in, they feigned glee at the decorations, balloons, and enormous animatronic pirate ship centerpiece. "That's gonna be our killing field," Bill whispered with relish. They split, Molly turning to the cake, while Bill looped around the corner. She snuck up close, planting the whoopee cushion and stepping back, while Bill sidled into the adjacent room. He raised the trumpet and gave a few practiced toots to get the pitch right. The deed done, Molly returned to where Bill was prepping hooks. One by one, they wrapped around bikes and toys. Parents were already guiding children out, some chanting with Bill's convincing siren. A muffled moan from the cake table, followed by a fit of giggles, got their plan in overdrive. The children scattered, tears and shrieks on the wind. Parents' faces flooded with panic, pulling reluctant kids out. Bill raced back, hooks strung through the toysack. He hoisted the treasure, and they slunk away. Through the exit, Bill sneered at the pile. "Little sacks of joyful innocence." Molly rolled her eyes. "We're the movers and shakers of a new generation. Now, let's get out of here before someone calls the real cops." In the van, they heaved the bagged booty in. Bill leaned back, sweat soaking his clothes. "Always thought those foam swords would make a fortune, looks like I'm right." "'Foove?" Molly mangled the word between laughter. "We've got at least ten in there." "Everybody wants a pirate sword, Molly." They raced off, pedal to the metal, with the remnants of laughter in the air. "You do know we're saving parents' sanity in the summer, right?" Molly mused. "A noble thieving, that's what I call it," Bill wrestled with the gears, grinning. As they drove on to the next target, Molly nodded, tapping a fake eyepatch in affirmation, "Now, onto the next. Who's up for another Barbie?" Their laughter filled the empty van, settling into silence, a hum of satisfaction, as the night swallowed them away.