Molly tossed her auburn curls over her shoulder and leaned back in the swivel chair, eyeing Bill skeptically. "A kids' party? Seriously?" Bill adjusted his porkpie hat and met her gaze, unflappable. "Hear me out. Unprotected presents just waiting to be snatched. It's an amateur's score." He smirked. "And we ain't amateurs, doll." Molly frowned, drumming her nails on the desk. "There'll be parents. Crying rugrats. It's a circus." Bill waved a hand dismissively. "We hit after the old men have downed a few stogies. Makes 'em nice and drowsy. Besides, the tykes won't even notice, what with all the clowning and cake." "Hmm." Molly considered, head tilted. "Saves us breaking into a vault. Okay, I hear ya. But we gotta move fast." Bill nodded. "Precisely. My idea is, you play Candyland with the ankle-biters to keep 'em distracted. The brawnier ones, I mean. I'll make the swipe." "Just like that? From under the Mommy's noses?" Bill grinned cagily. "No, see, here's the genius of it - that's when you come in." He mimed donning a fake mustache and glasses. "Security detail, ma'am. Can I see your invites?" Molly laughed, shaking her head. "You're not half bad, Bill Holt. Let's do this." She stood abruptly, fishing her shoulder holster from the desk drawer. "Brought the heat. In case of a sticky wicket." Bill stood and patted his own jacket. "Same here. Now finish your Whiskey Sour. We got a birthday to crash."