The bouncy castle seemed to hum with the infectious energy of sugar-fueled mayhem inside. Molly adjusted her ski mask, peering out at the throng of screaming children. "We're really doing this, aren't we?" Bill asked, his voice low and conspiratorial. "We're really doing this," Molly replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Bill rubbed his hands together. "Okay, mall strategy. We've got the diversions, we've got the disguises—" "The ones that are just slightly too small?" Molly interrupted. "And we've got the stolen ID forged by a retired accountant," Bill added. "We're basically a team of highly trained, highly competent professionals." Molly snorted. "At our age? More like Over-the-Hill Gamblers Trying to Make Ends Meet." "I resent that." Bill's tone was wounded. "We're simply... experienced." "Just don't get caught just yet, huh?" Molly grinned, straightening her ski jacket. "Hey, worst-case scenario is getting caught by the clown," Bill said matter-of-factly. "Or getting chased by an angry toddler," Molly added, glancing towards the storm of four-year-olds currently threatening to devour a piñata. Bill turned a small carton of stolen IDs into her palm. "Jerry Springer would have a fit if he knew where these came from." Molly stuck them in her bra. "Just think of it as charity work. Helping the offsprings-of-toy-halling ways make someone a little poorer."