The heist was set up for Friday night. Molly and Bill were huddled in the auto shop garage going over the plan. The owner Mr. Bernard had left the side door open all Tuesday. But, "Ain't no free lunch," and they'd have to work the lock. "The old swiss cheese malfunction," Bill said, unrolling the blueprints on the hood of the beat-up Ford pickup. "And keep your voice down, he can hear us back here." "Shit for brains," Molly muttered. "We're in the Clydesdales' stable, not Andrew W.K's mansion." "We overload it a few times with dead bolts and a spade—" "You forget I saw 'Hell Comes to Frogtown'? What the fuck is that all about?". Bill closed his eyes, palming his temples. "I can explain. It's a tale so ridiculously funny, so subtly emotional, so unconventional in narrative that it sends shivers down my spine. That even puny old patriarchian lines like 'Prepare for battle' and 'Brothers fight beside brothers' pale in comparison, MN." "Huh? It's about reptiles getting kicks off roller coasters. They're like, covered in slime and having a blast, laughing. You'd be pretty silly not to recognize that." Molly placed a finger in Bill's face. "You hear me, knuckle-dragger? Fix the spade! We enter stages one and three. I'll cover your ass and you back mine while we kick down these doors." "Hell yeah, I've got your back like a minigun on minigun mode," Bill said, wagging his eyebrows.