Molly spread the city map across the worn Formica table, pushing aside last night's pizza boxes and yesterday's newspaper. Bill lit a cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke in the direction of the ceiling fan. It was an old routine, one they'd honed over a decade of pulling small-time heists together. The thrill was still there, but the preparation had become ritualistic. "So, here's the plan," Molly said, her finger tracing the route to the birthday boy's house. "We hit the party at three, just as the kid is blowing out the candles. Chaos. Noise. Screaming kids. We slip in, snatch the presents, and slip out." Bill nodded, squinting through the smoke. "Sounds good. How many kids are we talking?" "Twelve. And their parents. We'll need to be quick." "Parents, huh?" Bill's eyes lit up. "Good. Maybe we can swipe some of their wallets too. You know how rich these suburban types are." Molly shot him a look. "No, Bill. We stick to the presents. We're not getting greedy here." Bill shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette in a pile of forgotten fast food wrappers. "Fine. Presents it is."