"Let's see now," Molly said, consulting the shoddy blueprint spread across the worn table. "Through the fence, disable perimeter security, cut the kitchen lock - standard protocol. Then: bam! Party-time." Bill adjusted his sunglasses, then lit an unfiltered cigarette. "Easy peasy. I mean, it's cute, cutesy kiddie party. What's the worst that could happen?" Molly glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "Cute? Bill, there'll be toddlers. Tiny, unpredictable toddlers. They're like little drunk grenadiers." Bill waved a hand dismissively, exhaling smoke. "Nah, just don't make eye contact. And if one latches on, you can always elope with them behind the buffet table." "Bill!" "What? Doesn't hurt to improvise!" He grinned wolfishly. " Bottoms up, love." He knocked back his drink, then continued. "So, present protocol? Stuff 'em in the sack, gone like the wind?" Molly nodded. "Hoping to collect a few prized possessions myself, if you know what I mean." "Always aim high, my darling. Now, let's seriously run the variables one more time..."