Bill crept up to the window and peered inside. The party was in full swing, with dozens of sugared-up children running amok. Molly sidled up beside him. "They're distracted enough to make a play," she murmured. "I'll go around front and keep the brats occupied while you snag the loot." "Careful though. The parents might get suspicious if you start handing out the gifts yourself." "Ha ha. Very funny. I was thinking of leading a few of them outside for a quick game of 'Follow the Leader'. And if anyone asks, I'll just say I'm Santa's helper." "That's brilliant! The kids will eat that right up. I'll be in and out before you can say 'ho ho ho'. Meet you back at the van in five." Molly melted into the shadows as Bill sauntered up to the front door with an impish grin plastered on his face. Time to put the con on these clueless parents and grab the goods. This was going to be child's play. He reached for the knob...and froze. A familiar tune drifted out - one he knew all too well from countless holiday heists past. Oh no. This could not be happening. Of all the parties, in all the towns, in all the world... Bill's shoulders slumped as he recognized the telltale opening chords of "The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late)." His blood ran cold. One thing he had learned from experience - never trust a party where Alvin, Simon and Theodore are spinning their sickly-sweet tunes. That trio spelled trouble with a capital "S". "What fresh hell is this?" Bill groaned. The Chipmunks only ever showed up one place. Somewhere close by was an open window or vent playing their gratingly chipper music. And he'd bet the next batch of swag on it that they were busy making mischief of their own right now. Those fuzzy little bastards had a sixth sense for when he was about to pull off a heist. They always seemed to pop up just to throw a wrench in the works and ruin everything. It was uncanny. Bill shuddered, remembering his last disastrous run-in with Alvin and crew. They had crashed his scheme, trashed the scene and left him with a splitting headache from their high-pitched hijinks. He swore then and there to never cross paths with the squeaky-voiced troublemakers again. But now here they