Molly leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the detailed layout of the community center spread out before her. Bill, sprawled across the bed, was busy reorganizing his notes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Come on, Bill, we've got this. We've got a solid team, a decent plan, and the cops are distracted with the annual Block Party Fest five streets over." Bill grumbled, "You're not exactly selling me on the whole 'this is a good idea' side, Molly." She raised an eyebrow. "What's not to love? We get in, snag the presents, and—" "Get out before the birthday boy shits his pants in fear?" Bill suggested, his hands flying across the page as he revised their strategy for the umpteenth time. Molly rolled her eyes. "That's the fun part. You're not exactly the crowd-pleaser, are you?" Bill's brow furrowed, "Hey, I've got a soft spot for kids. I just want to make sure our exit strategy doesn't involve a squadron of flailing, sugar-high five-year-olds in full-on party mode." Molly chuckled, "Fair point. That's why we've got the tunnel entrance planned, remember? We'll be in and out before they even notice we're there." Bill snorted, "I'll believe it when I see it. What's the plan for the sweet, sweet loot?" Molly's grin broke through, revealing a hint of the mischief that had always drawn Bill to her in the first place. "You know, for a few hundred bucks' worth of birthday presents, I think we can aim for at least one Macaulay Culkin or JCPenney gift card, minimum. Possibly a few craft-store staples to upgrade our lair." Bill's face contorted, a comical mix of calculation and desperation. "And the rare 1998 Pokémon Beanie Babies?" Molly shrugged, a sly grin spreading across her face. "You'd know, but I think those are a sucker bet. Unless you've got a reputable Beanie Expert on speed dial, let's focus on more practical swag." The tension in Bill's shoulders relaxed a fraction, but only a fraction. He still looked like he was fretting a particularly tricky trombone solo. "And what's the plan in case things go south? You know, party-pops exploding, police sirens, children demanding the existence of Santa?" Molly leaned forward, eyes sparkling with competitive fire. "We have protocols in place. I mean, we've been to worse venues – and remember that one ill-fated garage sale? The really bad decision making?" "Garage sale-gone-wrong?" Bill leaned in, leaning on a fender. "Try, me forgetting the codes, her tripping over cat, us fleeing in separate unmarked cop cars, while a panicked cop in a yellow sundress screams for our capture over a megaphone?" They shared a laugh, and finally the atmosphere in the cramped hideout relaxed, settling into a familiar pattern of relaxed trash-talking. "That garage sale still holds a special place in our heart... mostly for embarrassment," Molly said, her hands folded around a smooth pen. Bill tossed the paper aside, and grinned lazily. "Then we're in good shape. What's the first move?" Molly's grin faded, just for a moment, as she grabbed a folder of schematics. "We move in at midnight, when the partygoers are all distracted by juice-box-induced sugar highs. The rest, as they say, is history." Bill nodded, beginning a fresh set of hand-drawn diagrams, his satisfaction obvious, and clear as day they were right back in business, no kid left behind...