Molly adjusted her mask as she surveyed the facade of the suburban home, a gaudy facade of glittering tinsel and plastic inflatables. Bill fiddled with the lock on the sliding glass door, his pudgy fingers tracing the seam with a look of intense focus. "Molly, are you sure this thing is gonna work?" Bill whispered, his voice like a nervous baby. "Positive," Molly replied, her voice firm. "I've been casing this place for weeks. The parents are clueless. All they care about is the cake and the Pinata. They're going to be too busy blowing bubbles to notice us." Bill cleared his throat. "Ooh, bubbles, my favorite. So, like, how many presents you think we're gonna score?" Molly glanced around the darkened driveway, her eyes snagging on the sparkly streamers. "Let's just say we're going to be swimming in toys. I estimated at least a hundred of them, maybe more if the parents got their hopes up. We need to move fast, though. The birthday boy's parents will be coming back at 11, and we need to be in and out before they make their first appearances." "Okay, let's get our stuff then. Give me a nod when I get the door open."