The smell of sugar and desperation wafted through the cramped, rundown diner as Molly leaned back in her booth, eyes fixed on Bill across from her. He was sipping on a lukewarm coffee, nodding along to the sound of his own voice. "And then, we sneak into the party, avoid the clown chasing us with a squirt gun, and get to the presents. I've got the lockpick, you've got the gadgets. Easy in, easy out." Molly raised an eyebrow. "You're still calling it 'stealing from the birthday boy,' aren't you?" Bill's grin faltered for a moment before he recovered. "I'm trying to keep the innocence alive. You know, for the little guy's sake." Molly snorted. "Save it, Bill. We're thieves. We don't have a 'saint complex.'" Bill held up his hands. "Hey, don't knock it. It's all about giving back to the community, even if it is in the form of, say, a top-of-the-line Lego set." Molly shook her head, a small smile creeping onto her face. "You know, I'm starting to think you're more crazy than clever." The server, a gruff woman with a pierced nose, plucked a plate of stale french toast off the shelf and slapped it down in front of them. Bill dove in, the crunch of his teeth the only sound for a moment as Molly considered the logistics of their plan. "So, who's going to keep an eye on the punch bowl?" she asked, snagging a slice of toast as an afterthought. Bill swallowed, a mouthful of pancake blocking his airway. "Uh, well...I was thinking we'd need to split up. You take the kids, I'll work the wrapping stations." Molly winced. "You can't be serious. The whole point of this plan is to avoid the birthday kid and his entourage of screaming six-year-olds." Bill's face went deftly blank. "Uh, right. Forgot about the birthday kid. Guess I'll stick with the kids then." Molly rolled her eyes. "Great. Just great. You start chasing after the minivan of miniature dictators and I'll be trying to untangle a 3-year-old's tantrum with my spare lockpick. Sounds like a team effort for sure." Bill chuckled, the sound accompanied by a sputter of coffee that left a small brown ring on the Formica tabletop. "Hey, you're the one who's always talking about how stealing from the 'have-nots' is, like, basically a national pastime. I thought you'd be all about going for the gold, so to speak." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose, an expression of bemusement twisted onto her face. "You know, sometimes I think we're more like Bonnie and Clyde, minus the charm." Bill flashed her a toothy smile. "Hey, I resent that. I'm charming. I'm the one who wears a fedora." Molly deadpanned: "One fedora doesn't a charming crook make." As the pair continued bickering, a sugar-high kindergartener on a field trip to the diner wandered over, staring at them with wide, saucer-like eyes and a vacant expression that exactly mirrored Molly's own. The kid's mom followed, chuckling indulgently as she pushed them towards a stool at the counter.