Molly checked her watch impatiently as she and Bill skulked in the alley across from the brightly colored bouncy castle. "3:17pm. C'mon, when's the goddamn clown gonna show up for this shitshow?" Bill adjusted his oversized sunglasses, surveying their target - a lavish birthday party in full swing in the yard next door. "Relax Mohawk, don't you trust my intel? The ticket said the clown arrives at 3:30 sharp. That's when the real festivities kick into high gear and the parents get sloppy. We'll have the place cleaned out faster than you can say 'birthday spankings.'" Molly snorted. "Yeah, the only thing getting spanked is these little turkey's asses when they realize their presents are gone. We call it theft, Bill, not 'cleaning.'" Bill popped a few jawbreakers from his pocket, crunching loudly. "Potato, po-tah-toe. The point is, by 4 o'clock, we'll be swapping spit with a buried treasure chest of trendy toys. Going in then, the clown has the brats distracted, and the moms are probably passed out from chardonnay in the sprinkler." Molly rolled her eyes but allowed a small smirk. "You're a real piece of work, you know that? Trading spit? Who even says that? It was one kiss under the mistletoe Christmas 2019 and I still catch hell about it." Bill shrugged. "Mistletoe is foggy. Besides, you know you love me. Admit it, Mohawk, you miss my dashing good looks and strategic brilliance." "I miss jail food and root canals. Wouldn't you know, they crystalize your fillings in the slammer to make them easier to pick up off the cafeteria floor. Fun times, Bill! Maybe I should knit you a little jumpsuit so you never forget the sights and sounds of a 5x4 accommodations." The distant whoop of a party horn floated over, putting aside their banter. "Here we go, partner," Bill said, popping the last of the jawbreakers. "showtime." He clicked his microphone. "Tango Papaactual, Tango Uniformto Pizza Hut down the street for excavation. Stage One is a go." Molly scoffed but fell into step behind him as they crossed the street, striding to the party's back gate with practiced casualness. This gig was gonna be a cakewalk, as long as she kept Bill out of the punch bowl, away from the decorations, and far, far away from any mistletoe... Bill rattled the gate as if testing the lock while Molly pulled out her lockpicking kit. Fifteen seconds of focused silence, and the gate clicked open. Two sashayed into the abandoned backyard, keeping to the perimeter, honing in on the present laden tables. They found the cache quickly - overturned, but still full of colorful packages. Molly flashed Bill a "thumbs up" as they began to stuff the goodies into their knapsacks. Suddenly, a clown's voice went "Big burps or little toots? My money's on big burps!" from the bouncy castle. maisure our escape for a clean getaway. Beware, Bill: keep an eye out for those "aim high!" noises in fellas with a mouth full of cotton candy!" Bill shook his head. "No can do, Mohawk. You know I ain't desperate enough to hit on a carnie. Onesie or not."