"You can't be serious." Molly drummed her fingers on the diner table, her coffee growing cold. "A children's birthday party?" "Think about it," Bill leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Rich parents, thirty kids, that's at least sixty presents right there. Double presents from mom and dad's guilt over their divorce." "We usually do banks, Bill. Or jewelry stores. Not... Chuck E. Cheese." "It's not Chuck E. Cheese. It's Princess Party Palace. Even better. These are North Shore kids we're talking about. Nobody's getting dollar store coloring books." Molly stirred her coffee absently. "And your brilliant plan is what? Walk in dressed as clowns?" "Better. I got us jobs as party entertainers. You're gonna be Princess Elsa." "I'm gonna be what now?" "The ice queen from that movie. The one where she can't touch anything or it freezes." "I know who Elsa is, Bill. I'm asking why I have to dress up as her." Bill pulled out his phone and showed her a screenshot. "Look. Princess Party Palace is desperate. Their regular Elsa called in sick. Something about mono. They're paying three hundred bucks for a two-hour gig." "That's actually decent money for the straight job part." "Right? And while you're singing 'Let It Go' and distracting the sugar-rushed monsters, I'll be the maintenance guy checking the 'broken' AC unit. Perfect access to the gift room." Molly took a sip of her coffee and grimaced at the temperature. "What about the parents?" "They'll be too busy taking pictures and arguing about whose turn it is to have Tommy for Christmas. Trust me, I cased the place last week. These parties are chaos." "And the staff?" "Three teenagers making minimum wage and a manager who spends most of her time crying in the supply closet about her failed acting career." "You really did your homework on this one." "Always do. So, you in? The party's this Saturday." Molly sighed. "Fine. But I have conditions. First, no stealing anything handmade. If some grandmother spent forty hours knitting a sweater, it stays." "Deal." "Second, we donate ten percent to the children's hospital." "You're getting soft in your old age." "Third," Molly pointed her fork at Bill, "if one kid cries because of something we did, we abort. I'm a thief, not a monster." Bill raised his hands in surrender. "Acceptable terms. Though I should warn you, these kids cry if their apple juice isn't the right shade of apple." "Just tell me you've got a decent escape plan." "Two words: Ball. Pit." "No." "Yes. Think about it. We stash the goods in waterproof bags at the bottom. Nobody checks the ball pit. Ever. We come back after hours, fish them out, done." Molly pushed her plate away and stood up. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. And I really can't believe I have to learn the words to 'Let It Go.'" "Don't worry," Bill grinned, dropping cash on the table. "The cold never bothered you anyway." "I hate you." "Love you too, partner."