Molly sauntered into the dimly lit back alley, her stilettos clicking against the gritty pavement as she surveyed the vicinity. Bill was already there, lounging against their trusty getaway car - a rusty old Dodge Challenger that had seen more relegated warranted searches than a suburban mother's refrigerator. "Took you long enough," Bill grumbled, lighting up a cigarette. The end flare as he took a drag cast his rugged features in an eerie orange glow. "I was about to go in there and case the joint myself. Woulda been a lot less tedious." "No way, hotshot," Molly retorted, leaning against the passenger door. "You'd probably stumble in there half-pissed and make a scene. We can't afford any slip-ups this time. Not with all them Eye-Talians sniffing around like blood-hounds at a rodeo." Bill took another long drag before flicking the butt aside. "They ain't no Italians, Molly. They're Sicilians." "Tomato tomahto. Point is, they're tight-lipped, old-money types. Ain't risking getting plugged just 'cuz you can't resist making wisecracks at a kid's birthday bash." Molly stretched, arching her back. The low-cut top she wore Added an extra layer of distraction. A girl never knew when she might have to add a little "pepperoni" to get her point across. Bill checked his watch, a retro dive piece swiped from a Coral Gables pawn shop like most of his accessories. "Okay, Capone, let's hear the grand plan then. How do you propose we waltz into that shindig full of snot-nose brats and horny pre-teens, much less wrangle all them presents outta there undetected?" A devious grin spread across Molly's face as she reached into her bag and pulled out two tiny vials of liquid. "Technically, we ain't gonna be waltzing..." Bill studied the vials, squinting at the grounds swirling within. "What's that? Horse tranquilizers?" "Please," Molly scoffed. "I may not be Einstein, but I ain't no hick. That's homemade GHB, my friend. Slop a bit in the punch bowl and in 30 waiting for a swell holiday tree bloke sees anyone but the Jolly Man. We'll have the crib stripped bare while they're busy drooling on their own bibs." Bill let out a low whistle. "Well, well. Trying to impress me, ancora? Ain't many molls who'd have the gumption to pull off a stunt like that. C'mon, gimme one o' those suckers." Molly raised an eyebrow, but handed over a vial with a smirk. After all, it wasn't often her hard-as-nails partner got a case of the warm and fuzzies. Besides, the old adage was true - keep your friends close and your colleagues closer. Lord knew this gig was the 'work with someone enough and you gotta deal with some stink' end of the spectrum too. But as the saying went, 'you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.' And with this heist, they'd have plenty of both to go around. "You know," Bill remarked, twirling the vial between his fingers, "I always said you gotta have brains to successfully prowl as a partner. Seeing as I'm too old to pull off catburglary and jewels don't cut it to pay the rent since Carlo Skjodtsanssen took a muller to the knees, guess I'll have to put my faith in an upstart kid who's half my age." "Trust me, you wanna be in the money, you won't regret it," Molly said with a wink. She could practically see the cogs turning in Bill's head, plotting how to divvy up the spoils. Which was probably stroke her ego a bit too much, but she didn't much care. She'd learned early on to take compliments where she could get 'em. Bill gave a grudging nod. "Alright, you've convinced me. Let's go give Saint Nick a run for his sleigh." He jerked his head towards the party noises drifting down the alley. "Wait 'till the little bastards are good and distracted with games and presents, then we'll slip in, spike the nog, and clean 'em out. Consider it Christmas come early, eh?" "You read my mind," Molly said, already striding towards the party, Bill jogging to catch up behind her. "Merry motherfucking Christmas, Bill."