Molly and Bill huddled in the alleyway, surrounded by stacks of boxes and empty wrapping paper, their eyes scanning the neighborhood for the perfect score. Bill's fedora clung to his scalp, its brim slightly askew as he adjusted it with a loose thread. "Alright, what's the plan, Molly?" Bill asked, his voice muffled by the worn denim of his jacket. "We hit the Smith's fifth birthday bash this Saturday. They won't be anywhere near home for an hour, and all that red, pink, and blue will be either on the floor or on sale," Molly said, her ponytail bobbing as she gestured to the vast array of wrapping paper and garish decorations. "Fair enough. I know the Smith's," Bill countered, popping his head out from behind a stack of boxes. "We can sneak in through the garden, get to the kitchen, grab the gifts, and make a quick exit. From there we'll have plenty of time to change cars and get out before the parents start combing the neighborhood." Molly nodded, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of a week's worth of easy marks lying abandoned. "And the presents, um, are the real prize? Not the house itself?" Bill grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching with mischief. "The presents. The real treasure. Think about it. A mountain of wrapped-up toys and candy, all piled high. It's like a treasure hoard from the Renaissance." Molly sniggered, the sound bubbling over into laughter as she straightened her shoulders. "You're going to give me a heart attack one day." "The point is," Bill said, his voice low and conspiratorial, "this is a once-a-year event, and the Smiths will probably leave so many gifts behind the house that morning we'll barely notice we're there." They gathered their things – a baseball cap, a wad of cash, and a false ID – and melted away into the morning traffic, blending in seamlessly with the sleepy neighborhood. The Smiths were still asleep, oblivious to the heist unfolding behind them.