Molly leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning the surveillance footage of the children's party venue on her laptop screen. "Alright, Bill, the guest list is looking weak. What's our plan?" Bill, lounging on the couch, tossed a potato chip into the air and caught it with a grin. "We go in as the bouncy castle guys. Kids love bouncy castles." Molly raised an eyebrow. "That's our cover? You think no one will notice two grown adults in bright yellow jumpsuits waltzing into a party?" "Hey, it's a great disguise," Bill said, snagging another chip from the bag. "We blend in, we're just part of the props. Plus, who doesn't love a good bounce?" "Children," Molly said dryly. "Not us, with a van full of stolen birthday presents. What's the timeline looking like?" Bill slid off the couch, wandered over to the kitchen, and rummaged through the cupboards. "Okay, so the party's from 2 to 5. We go in at 3, ' delivered' bouncy castle in tow. That gives us two hours to get the loot and get out before anyone starts wondering why the balloon animals aren't materializing." Molly nodded, her eyes lingering on the floor plan of the venue. "What about security?" "Bagel-wielding dads and Play-Doh-deranged toddlers. That's the worst it's gonna get," Bill said, producing a bag of pretzels. "Arms dealers these are not," Molly agreed, scribbling some notes on a pad of paper. "But the presents are our main concern. Any idea how many we're looking at?" Bill planted himself in front of the laptop, took a swig of soda, and consulted the guest list. "Looks like...at least fifty, maybe more. All that sugary excess is bound to be worth it." "We'll need something with some real capacity," Molly said thoughtfully. "Can you sweet-talk Steve into letting us use the old-fashioned ice cream truck?" Bill snorted, dusting his hands off on his jeans. "You really want to drive up in that swap-meet Rigmarole? We'll stick out like scarlet feathers at a toddler rave." "Does Steve know that?" Molly said dryly. "Dude, I owe him a machine gun chimichanga since January. We're getting that ice cream truck." "Dibs on driving," Bill said with a mischievous grin.