Bill and Molly sat across from each other, sipping coffee and meticulously studying diagrams of the party setup. Molly tapped a long nail on the diagram. "Alright, this is the ballroom," she said, her British accent waltzing over the words. "From what I heard, every kid in the borough's been invited." Bill nodded, his cowboy hat askew. "So how many gifts we looking at?" Molly's eyes twinkled. "Hundreds. Maybe thousands." A smile curled her lips. "It's like a holiday version of a modern art gallery." Bill chuckled, taking off his hat to run a hand through his short hair. "Those rich kids have more presents than the Smithsonian." "They definitely need more placards," Molly quipped, all eggnog and pine needles around the holidays. "So, strategy?" Bill leaned forward, elbows on the table. "How do we do this without looking too conspicuous? No elves wanted." Molly pursed her lips, thinking. "Mask supplies, and a costume. If every toddler's in a costume, why shouldn't we be?" Bill narrowed his eyes. "We're not going as unicorns, are we?" Molly giggled. "No, but we could... oh, I know! Slave!" She flourished her arm. "It's subtle but gets us in the door. What do you think?" "Slaves?" Bill tried to hide his grin, but it slipped out. "To steal kids' presents?" "It's not like we're hurting anyone," Molly said, her Boston-baked voice softening. "They're billionaires. A million here, a million there... they won't even miss it." Bill shrugged. "I guess you're right." He tugged at his hat. "But what about cameras?" "No man can stop us," Molly said, her eyes gleaming. "When we're slaves of the present-silencer." They both looked at her, knowing it was a terrible name. Molly sighed. "Fine. We'll figure that out later. What about the guard?" Bill picked up a nearby newspaper, perusing the society pages. "Nothing big listed. Probably just hired hands or tried-and-failed Hollywood types. Aimless ex-Disney actors puffing themselves up." Molly nodded, agreeing. "We need something to knock them out with," she said, biting at her lower lip. "Nothing too obvious, though. Can't just have an unconscious bodyguard wandering around." "We could get some of those blowdart guns they use on TV," Bill said, thinking out loud. "Knock them out temporarily." Molly's eyes widened. "Oh, bill," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I have a better idea." Bill leaned in, ready for whatever second-grade heist she came up with. "Okay, so we..." *** Later, the two walked out of the café, Bill in a skeleton-style shirt and skull hat, Molly with a sharp-toothed raven plushie perched on her shoulder, dressed as a formidable raven queen. They laughed as people stared, feeling their caper coming together in perfect stride. Inside, they had already mapped out their hostage negotiations with the kiddies. Outside? With less creative troublemakers, perhaps.