Molly and Bill sat hunched over a rickety table in the corner of the dingy diner, plotting their next caper. The greasy spoon was nearly empty at this early hour, save for a few hardened regulars nursing their coffees and avoiding eye contact. "How's this for a score?" Molly whispered, sliding a crumpled flyer across the table. "Some rich kid's birthday bash at the Bentley Hotel. Packed with presents for the taking." Bill snatched up the paper and scanned it greedily. "Birthday parties, eh? I like the way you think, Mols. No armed guards or alarm systems to worry about. Just a bunch of bratty rugrats and their clueless parents." "Exactly," Molly grinned. "We'll blend right in with the festivities. A couple of long-lost aunts or somethin'." "But won't they know we don't belong?" Bill furrowed his brow. "I mean, these society types always seem to know each other." Molly waved a dismissive hand. "Leave that to me, Bill. I'll have us decked out in finery that would make the Queen herself green with envy. They'll be so dazzled by our aristocratic bearing, they won't question a thing." "What about the loot?" Bill leaned in, eyes gleaming. "How do we make off with the goods without raisin' suspicion?" A sly smile spread across Molly's face. "Ah, that's the beauty of it. We pose as the hired help - a couple of trusted servants tasked with safeguarding the precious gifts. We'll simply load 'em into boxes and cart 'em out like we're supposed to. Piece of cake." "I dunno, Mols..." Bill hedged, scratching his scruffy chin. "Seems awful brazen. What if some prissy mum or dad wants to inspect the merchandise?" "Stick to the plan and keep your cool," Molly advised. "If anyone gives us guff, just act all indignant, like they're insultin' your professionalism. Trust me, these hoity-toity types may have money, but they're spineless when it comes to confrontation. They'll back down faster than a debutante at a hot dog eating contest." Bill snorted into his coffee, nearly spraying the table. "Ha! You really know how to paint a picture, don't ya?" "I have many talents," Molly simpered, patting her hair. "Now, let's go over the details one more time..." The duo bent their heads together, muttering and scheming as the diner's kitchen disgorged the tantalizing aroma of frying bacon. In their ragged clothes and haggard faces, it was hard to imagine them passing for upper crust. But desperadoes learn to adapt quickly, and Molly had a natural gift for grift and gab. As the early morning sun slanted through the grimy window, outlining their feverish faces in gold, the thieves lost themselves in visions of ill-gotten gain and carefree tomorrows. Oh, they'd live like kings for a while after this one. Luxuriating in silk and champagne, free from want or worry. That is, until the money ran out and they found themselves right back where they started - hungry, hunted, and hustling for the next big job. Such is the transient nature of the criminal life. But for now, the promise of the score consumed them utterly. And so they planned, and plotted, and connived. The Bentley Hotel had no idea what was coming.