Molly spread out the blueprints of the house on the rickety table, weighing down the corners with empty coffee cups and crumpled up fast food wrappers. Bill leaned over her shoulder, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concentration as they studied the layout of the living room. "Okay, so we hit the presents first," Molly said, tracing her finger along the lines denoting the walls. "That way, if we get caught, we're not stuck with a bunch of stuffed animals and broken dreams." "Sounds good to me," Bill agreed, his lips pursed. "But how are we getting in?" Molly shrugged, tapping her pen against the diagrams. "Leave that to me. I've got a friend who's got a friend who owes me a favor. We'll be walking in the door with the clown." Bill raised an eyebrow. "You mean the birthday kid's friend, or a real clown?" "Does it matter?" Molly asked dryly. Bill shook his head. "No, I guess not. But what if the clown recognizes us from the last job? The one with the accordion?" Molly snorted. "That 'clown' was just a guy in a bright wig and a red nose. He couldn't spot us in a police lineup." She grinned. "Besides, we're professionals. We can pull off anything we set our minds to."