Molly drummed her fingers impatiently on the old oak tabletop. "Bill, we need to get this plan together. Christmas is coming and it's the perfect time to hit the holiday parties." Bill leaned back in his chair, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. "Holiday parties, huh? I like the sound of that." Molly rolled her eyes. "Not the rich folk bashes, dummy. Think smaller, like... Kids' parties." "Ah, the little angels." Bill's smile grew wider. "Who doesn't like free presents?" "You've got a point. It'll be a kids' Christmas party at the Davis' place. Old Mr. Davis has a fortune in North Tokyo, but snores like a freight train. That's our distraction." Bill frowned. "I don't know about this. I'm not exactly Father Christmas material." Molly laughed. "I've got a little red sweater of Tristian's you can borrow. And a pair of white-blond yak-hair wigs. No one'll know it's us." "Uh... right." Bill looked less than convinced. "You need to work on your kiddie singalongs too," Molly said. "I'm burning those nursery rhymes into your head all week." "Will do, boss." Bill sighed, grabbing a notepad. "Now, what's the signal for the smoke bomb?" Molly smirked and flipped her hair. "If it's an emergency, Bill. You know the drill."