Molly adjusted her neon greenigtipped sunglasses as she surveyed the bustling street outside the community center. Colorful streamers and balloons framed the entrance, the cheerful decorations proclaiming "Happy 8th Birthday Timmy!" inside. "That's the place alright," she said to her partner in crime Bill, who was squinting through binoculars from the passenger seat of their getaway car. " diesem timing has to be perfect - we go in too early and we'll have a forest of confused eight-year-olds to fight through. Too late and the parents have already swarmed in and snatched up the loot for themselves." Bill lowered the binoculars with a grunt. "Agreed. My money's on 2:33 sharp. The little tykes are all tuckered out from pinata-whacking by then, and mom and dad are primed to start divvying up the booty." Molly nodded, tapping her ear where a tiny earpiece was nestled. "I've got Tiny Tim on the line now. He'll be our eyes and ears inside - and our distraction if things get hairy." She pressed a button and spoke into the mic. "Tiny Tim, this is Operation Candy Cane. Come in, Tiny Tim." After a moment, a crackly voice piped up. "Operation Candy Cane, Tiny Tim here! I'm all set up in the coat closet like you said, chief. When you give the signal, I'll pop out and start singing 'Let It Go' at the top of my lungs. Those whiny little brats won't know what hit 'em." Molly suppressed a smile. Tiny Tim was the little brother of a rival gangster. They'd "acquired" him after a job gone wrong last month. To their surprise, Timmy had taken to their line of work like a duck to water. The kid had a knack. "Good work, Timmy," Molly said. "You just stick to the plan and this'll be a cake walk. What do you say we make this a double Header day - presents AND cake?" "Yessss," sighed Timmy longingly through the earpiece. "One slice for me, two for you! For the plan!" "For the plan," Molly agreed with a clink of an invisible glass. "Alright, Bill. Let's suit up and get in position. Timmy, be ready to waste those kids' hearing when I give the word." She killed the earpiece and turned to Bill with a mischievous grin. "It's showtime, my friend." Bill returned the smirk, his eyes glinting behind thick-rimmed glasses. He reached down between his legs to Produce two gleaming semiautomatic pistols, placing them on his lap. "I don't know why they call you 'Sweetheart' - it's 'Payday' that fits you better." Molly laughed as she checked the weapons, steeling herself. In an hour, they'd be out of here with the children's presents, leaving only pirateBooty and confused parents in their wake - and maybe a park full of shell-shocked little boys and girls humming 'Let It Go' for weeks to come. What a Christmas party this would be. For once she'd gladly miss any "surprise visits" from Santa. This duo gave presents, not received them.