The fluorescent lights of the rundown diner flickered above, casting an artificial glow on the worn booths and laminated menus. Molly sat hunched over a cup of black coffee, her eyes fixed on the hand-drawn diagram of the party venue on a crumpled napkin. Bill slammed his fist on the counter, making the sugar canister jump. "We're not gonna get in," he growled at Molly. "One look at those cute little faces and party hats, and we'll be caught before we even get to the loot." Molly snorted, crumpling the napkin as she tossed it in the trash. "You're worried about getting caught? We're in this for the thrill, Bill. And the merchandise, of course. Eleven parties, one summer. I've calculated the haul. We're looking at a minimum of twenty thousand dollars' worth of toys, electronics, and candy." "Okay, fine," Bill said, strumming the saltshaker with his finger. "We get in. But what's the plan for getting out?" "That's the best part," Molly said, a sly grin spreading across her face. "We'll create a diversion. I've booked a kid's magician to perform during the party. A professional will make a mess of the cake, and in the chaos, I'll slip in behind the hostess and clock her. She'll be our get-away key. We'll slip in and out undetected." Bill shook his head. "You're insane. What about the party favors? They'll be all over the place. We can't just steal from a bunch of screaming kids." "Party favors are so last season," Molly said winking. "We're going for the big boys. The legit gifts. Games, electronics, building sets. Think of the joy we'll bring to the families of our victims...a.k.a. the owners of those houses on the party invitation list." Bill snapped his fingers. "You know, that sounds suspiciously like a legitimate economic stimulus plan. Maybe we shouldn't be breaking in. Maybe we should invest in the party industry." Molly's grin faltered for a moment before she snorted again. "Yeah, because nothing says 'fiscal responsibility' like ripping off a bunch of kids with their parents watching." As they argued, the waiter, a weary but patient man with a mustache, wandered over to their booth. "You folks getting anything to eat?" Only Molly turned to him, eyes sparkling with mischief. "The short-order tickets for the heist are all filled up. Bill here is going to enjoy a meal for one." Bill blinked at her, taken aback, as the waiter nodded and scribbled down an order on his pad.