Molly adjusted her sparkly party hat, a pilfered prop from their last heist, and plopped down beside Bill on the couch in their cramped motel room. The dim glow of the overhead lamp cast a sinister light on the spread of party invitations, floor plans, and googly-eyed kid pictures strewn across the coffee table. "Okay, let's review the plan," Bill said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "We go in during the puppet show, when the sugar-high kids are distracted by Mr. Whiskers and his creepy ventriloquist friend." "Precisely," Molly replied, tapping her purple nails on the table. "The host mom will be refereeing the popcorn-throwing contest, and the gift table will be temporarily abandoned." Bill flipped through the invitations, his eyes squinting at the glittery lettering. "This rich mom is really going all out for little Timmy's fifth birthday. I mean, a magician, a bounce house, and a custom cake shaped like a unicorn-farting rainbow?" "Hey, no mocking," Molly said, snatching the invitation from Bill's hand. "That unicorn-farting rainbow cake sounds amazing. I want it." "You can have the leftovers, Molly. After we're done making off with the presents, of course," Bill said, chuckling. "Ten minutes in, max five-hundred-yard dash to the getaway car... I like our chances," Molly said, mentally rehearsing the escape route. "Two dozen kids screaming, three dozen overcaffeinated adults – we'll blend right in," Bill quipped, ruffling his receding hairline. "You know what the biggest challenge will be?" Molly mused, kicking off her silver sequined sneaker and flexing her toes. "Trying not to punch Mr. Whiskers for his annoying puppet laughter?" Bill snarked. "Actually, it's going to be resisting those adorbs sugar-cookie party favors. I have a weakness for sprinkles," Molly admitted, tucking a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear. "Sugar cookies, huh?" Bill leaned in, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I'll make sure to put in a special request to Santa – no cookies for Molly until we're back in the hideout, counting our loot." Molly elbowed Bill's stomach, prompting an exaggerated oof from her partner-in-crime. "You're a true friend, Bill. And speaking of friends, did you get the fake mustaches for our disguise?" Bill patted his jacket pocket, producing a fuzzy, mismatched pair of mustaches. "Molly, my furry accessories are unmatched in this business." The partners exchanged a high-five before collapsing into snicker-filled coughs. Their operation, Party Heist International, had been running smoothly for five years, and this gig would bring them one step closer to retirement – that is, after settling their upcoming tab for excessive amounts of gold glitter, novelty cake toppers, and glittery jail time.