Bill and Molly are eggheads par excellence, incredibly private and work behind the scenes, Moles in high society, but they have a scrawny look. Bill is a slender little man in his forties with a little nose and downstairs eyes. Molly is a few years younger and also a good foot and a half shorter than her partner. Sleeves of braces and a baby face. Nobody takes them seriously except themselves. They don't care: for them, stealing a pack of candy bars represents a small treasure that will keep them alive a few more days. All in, they are pretty non-visible. It doesn't matter if they are black as night and bloated with drugs or cairole with guns like trees dorks! Bill and Molly's caper's puzzle. Art heists, diamond robberies, delicate bank robberies? Psychic specials. It looks like they're out of the picture. Hiding behind their silence, they go about their small world and murders they do to live. That time, however, they're more the rubies they're planning for a particularly tricky caper. For the holiday season, a lavish party is planned. Because it's Christmas Eve, the whole thing is being hosted by the Santa Claus kids and parents. For those who didn't know them yet, this is the Bob Willows, distant cousin of the owner of the remaining toy giant, M. Oakley Willows. What is thrown out of the window with the count? Hire the rich and famous to play Father Solid and interact with the little rich boys at the party. Nothing is stingy anyway. The poor have no business being in such a replay; it can be terribly expensive to organize a birthday party, and toy honesty takes them to a new level. It was their secret. Bill and Molly learned of this party for the January issue of a socialite magazine and weren't exactly thrilled to read it. In essence, they often robbed the rich, the famous, and the unscrupulous; however, when it came to the little flesh tones, they would have much preferred to leave them something to be happy about. All the same, they knew they wouldn't be able to hold back. 'Offer a good deal with bills,' explained Bill to Molly. I love them, he liked each child and wanted them to be happy. Even more, he wanted to make their parents cry. I mownow diploma. Wax pistols stuck in this kid's eyes and father's blood on the wall behind him, a juicy vision that made Mama want to vomit more firmly. The plan is simple, but very risky; The Santa Claus party-light setup under the supervision of a professional team of decorators. Bill and Molly have uniforms, ID cards, Marvin (black skinny he had to eat food for one day before the event). For all his spending, once their team has broken in, the little team will hide from their machine in the bathroom, pig them with punches and eyes. Once they've been preyed upon, he'll dress up in their uniforms and run through the lavish party drums, whooping and cheering. All the parents will think it's another Santa Claus extorted, but that's the point: the robbers will then systematically herd the children into the smallest room possible, collect all the dogs, and hang the sleeping team. Then they can make their escape before someone starts getting an idea of what went on (not Molly, her idea of halfway). The relief will be better if you don't know there has been a bad Santa Claus. Once they've made their escape, they will hide in the back alley of Willlowboy House, and Molly will then switch the famous Plato Närvelhasen, because, even in the deepest hunting Shadow, first allow tenderness and don't steal from children. She would have liked to quit, of course, but not now.