"Hear me out, Bill. The kid's birthday party, tomorrow afternoon. That house'll be swimming in unguarded loot. We strut in, grab the gifts, strut out. Pieces of cake." Bill took a swig of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hard pass, Mol. stakes're too high. Parents'll be guardin' them presents with their lives. Plus, all those snot-nosed brats runnin' around? Nah, I've no patience for that." Molly leaned in, eyes gleaming. "That's the beauty of it, though. The chaos. Nobody'll be payin' us any mind, too busy playin' games, eatin' cake. We'll be in and out before anyone realizes what's happened. Low-risk, high-reward. What's not to love?" Bill drained his glass, set it down with a thud. "Jail-time is what's not to love. I'm not fallin' for your bald-headed badger in a blonde wig scheme this time. Absolutely not." Molly pouted, but her eyes still sparkled with mischief. "Fine, be boring. I'll do it solo. But don't come cryin' to me when you're stuck playin' canasta with Mr. Graves again, ya killjoy." Bill sighed, rubbed his temples. "You're insufferable, you know that? Fine, I'm in. But if I go down, you're comin' with me. Got it?" Molly grinned, her face splitting with triumph. "Now that's more like it. This score'll be the icing on the cake, Bill. Theicing on the cake."