Molly drummed her fingers against the dashboard, watching parents shuffle brightly wrapped packages through the front door of the suburban home. The late afternoon sun caught the metallic ribbons, sending sparkles across her vision like nature's own disco ball. "I still can't believe we're hitting a kid's birthday party," Bill muttered, slouching lower in the driver's seat of their beat-up Civic. "We used to rob banks." "Banks have security systems. Six-year-olds don't." Molly pulled out her notebook, making a few quick calculations. "I count eighteen presents so far. Average value of thirty bucks each, that's over five hundred in merchandise we can flip." Bill scratched his stubbled chin. "Doesn't feel right. Remember when we took down that jewelry store in Milwaukee? That was class." "That was ten years ago, and you got shot in the ass." Molly squinted through her binoculars. "Look, there's another one. Wonder if it's the new PlayStation. Rich neighborhoods like this, bound to be some good stuff." The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the perfectly manicured lawn. A clown walked up the driveway, his rainbow wig bobbing with each step. "Perfect," Molly said, scribbling in her notebook. "Party starts at six, dinner at seven. We slip in through the back while they're all stuffing their faces with cake." Bill shook his head. "You know what my momma would say about stealing from children?" "Your mother ran a counterfeit handbag operation out of her basement." "Yeah, but at least she had standards." A minivan pulled up, disgorging another family with another gift. Molly added it to her tally. "Look at it this way – these kids are spoiled rotten. Probably getting duplicate presents anyway. We're doing them a favor, teaching them about loss early in life." "You should have been a philosopher instead of a thief," Bill snorted. "Philosophy doesn't pay the rent." Molly tucked away her notebook. "Now, I've got two empty duffel bags in the trunk. The parents will be busy with the party games, the kids will be hopped up on sugar, and the presents will be sitting pretty in the living room. Ten minutes tops." Bill sighed, but she could see him starting to cave. "What about the clown?" "What about him?" "Clowns freak me out. Ever since that circus job in Tampa." Molly patted his arm. "The clown's not going to be guarding the presents. He'll be making balloon animals or whatever it is clowns do these days. Besides, you'll be wearing that catering uniform I swiped." "Fine," Bill grumbled. "But if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming you. And if that clown comes near me, I'm out." "That's the spirit." Molly grinned, watching another present join the parade. "Now let's go over the timing one more time. And Bill? Try to look less like you're planning to rob a birthday party. You're making the soccer moms nervous."