Molly sat cross-legged on the threadbare couch, a crumpled diagram of the Enchanted Forest Party Venue spread out before her. Bill reclined on the adjacent armchair, a box of stale donuts in his lap. He was a giant of a man, with a mismatched pair of novelty sunglasses perched on his forehead. Molly eyed the donuts warily. "You can't seriously eat those at eight-thirty in the morning, Bill." He shrugged, crumbs spilling from his mouth. "Hey, someone's gotta keep the nerves at bay. You're the one who insisted we hit the kids' party today. I'm just providing the, you know, stomach lining." Molly's blonde ponytail bobbed as she shook her head. "You know I love a good challenge, but a children's birthday bash? Really? It's like breaking into a kindergarten playground. What could possibly go wrong?" Bill's chuckle was a low, rumbling thing. "Aw, come on. We've pulled off the heists of the century. What's one little party to you?" She shot him a sidelong glance. "Your ego's almost as inflated as your head, Bill." "Hey, that's not fair. I'm a master thief, a virtuoso of villainy. Besides" – he grinned, exposing a gold tooth – "have you seen the loot on those wish lists? This baby's gonna be a Christmas present extravaganza. We're talking cash, high-end gadgets, possibly even a pony or two –" "Two ponies, you said?" Bill saluted, mouth still full of donut. Molly buried her face in her hands. "You're impossible." The sound of bickering children and off-key entertainment drifted from outside the dingy apartment. Molly let out a deep sigh. "Okay, let's get down to business. You're in charge of lifting the gift table and hauling it out of there. I'll take the register and –" "Don't even think about it," Bill drawled, covering his ears with a spatulate hand. "I've seen the register. It's kid-pleasing crud like 'Golden Ticket' candy and 'Artistic Expressions' poster kits. No way we're leaving that dustbunny-filled treasure trove behind." "Hey, it's cute. And cute sells, apparently. Besides, it's not like we're in this for the art or the skill. We're here for the electronics – the tablets, the gaming consoles, the actual worth of which we can flip the kid's parents on eBay." Bill nodded, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth. "Now you're talking." With a flick of her wrist, Molly tucked the outline of the party venue into her left sock. The pair fell silent, their only sound the steady tick of the apartment's ancient clock radio. For a moment, they sat, suspended in anticipation, their eyes drinking in the banality of the dingy, dim-lit room – a staccato counterpoint to the gleeful mayhem they were about to unleash elsewhere.