Molly hunched over a stained coffee table, flipping through the blueprints of Little Timmy's 8th birthday bash. Bill lounged in the worn armchair across from her, a smattering of Dorito crumbs on his shirt. "You're sure this is the one?" Bill asked, eyeing the faded diagram. "The one?" Molly repeated, a flick of her wild blonde hair betraying her annoyance. "The only one, genius. This is the party that every 8-year-old boy in the tri-state area wants to crash." "And the presents?" Bill's voice rose in excitement. "Piles of sugary loot just begging to be stolen?" Molly leaned back in her chair, eyes never leaving the blueprint. "Gold, Bill. Diamonds. Plastic monstrosities with a shelf life of approximately 30 minutes. This party's got it all." "How many guards?" Bill's bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Zero," Molly replied, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her face. "Kid's parents are apparently too trusting, or too drunk, to care. Either way, we're in." Bill whistled low. "I'm loving the lack of security. When do we hit?" "Not too soon," Molly cautioned, tapping the diagram with a black-painted nail. "We don't want to freak the parents out, which would, in turn, freak us out of our loot." "True true," Bill muttered, scrambling out of the armchair. "Timing's everything in this game. What's the plan?" Molly's grin widened as she slid into the driver's seat of her beat-up sedan. "In and out, baby. We'll blend in like a couple of suburban soccer moms. Presents will be on us before the cake's even been served." Bill hopped in beside her, releasing a satisfied belch into the air. "You know, Molly, I think I've missed the real fun of this job. A kid's party? It's our own private ATM." Molly fired up the engine, a low rumble vibrating the frame of the old car. "I'm told the cake is a chocolate fountain. You can have the last piece." Bill's eyes lit up, a slow grin crawling up his face. "Deal." As they rolled away from the curb, Bill's enthusiasm began to seep into the grimy sedan's atmosphere. They were a pair of seasoned thieves, but sometimes even the most seasoned of crooks got the bug. This could be fun. Molly steered the car towards the party, a growing confidence building behind her eyes. There was only one roadblock left to clear. A party favor store robbery would be a pretty good warm-up for what they truly wanted: all the gaudy, saccharine junk at Timmy's party.