Molly drummed her fingers against the coffee shop table, studying the birthday party invitation she'd swiped from the neighbor's mailbox. Bill slouched in the chair across from her, absentmindedly stirring his fourth packet of sugar into his already syrupy latte. "So we're really doing this?" Bill asked, his mustache twitching. "Stealing from six-year-olds?" The invitation's cartoon dinosaurs seemed to judge them with their googly eyes. Molly had cased the venue – Prehistoric Pete's Pizza Palace – three times already. The security was laughable: one teenage guard who spent most of his shift playing games on his phone. She calculated the potential haul in her head. Thirty kids, averaging two presents each, most likely containing gift cards, electronics, or this year's hottest toys. The resale value alone made her giddy. The perfect crime, really. Who would suspect two adults of targeting a children's birthday party? "Think of it as redistributing joy," Molly said, folding the invitation into a tiny paper airplane. "Besides, these suburban kids have too much stuff anyway." Bill sighed and pulled his dinosaur-themed ski mask from his pocket.