"I can't believe we're actually considering this," Molly whispered, adjusting her binoculars as she peered through the cafe window across from Little Timmy's Party Palace. "We've hit banks, museums, and that weird rich guy's cat sanctuary, but a kid's birthday party?" Bill slurped his coffee noisily, earning a glare from his partner. "Think about it logically. Every spoiled brat in the Upper East Side gets the latest iPhone, designer clothes, and probably solid gold Legos or whatever. One party could net us thirty grand in gifts, easy." The party palace's gaudy purple and yellow facade sparkled in the afternoon sun. A steady stream of parents dropped off wrapped presents at the front desk, each package bigger than the last. "I don't know," Molly said, watching a woman struggle with what appeared to be a life-sized stuffed giraffe. "It feels wrong." "Wrong? May I remind you that last month you convinced a nun to help us steal her own church's communion chalice?" "That was different. Sister Margaret was very understanding once I explained about the orphans." Bill rolled his eyes. "There weren't any orphans. You made that up." "Yes, but she doesn't know that." Molly set down her binoculars and grabbed Bill's coffee, taking a sip despite his protests. "So what's the plan? We can't exactly walk in there dressed as clowns." "Already handled. I got us jobs as party coordinators. We start tomorrow." "Tomorrow? The party's tomorrow? Bill, we need more prep time than that!" A group of balloon artists entered the party palace, their cars laden with supplies. Bill gestured toward them with his chin. "Look at that place. It's chaos in there. Perfect cover. While everyone's watching little Brandon or Madison or whatever blow out their candles, we'll be loading the gift room into our van." Molly drummed her fingers on the table. "The gift room's probably locked." "Already checked. Key pad entry. Six digits." "And?" "And I watched the manager punch it in this morning. It's 123456." "You're kidding." "Nope. Apparently, they kept forgetting more complicated codes." Molly couldn't help but laugh. "That's either the dumbest or most brilliant thing I've ever heard." She grabbed her purse and stood up. "Fine. But if we do this, we're not taking anything handmade. No macaroni art, no finger paintings, nothing some grandma spent six months knitting." Bill joined her, throwing some cash on the table. "Deal. Although I bet some of those grandmas knit with golden thread these days." "One more thing," Molly said as they walked to their car. "If there's a pony at this party, I'm keeping it." "We are not stealing a pony." "Watch me." "The van can't fit a pony!" "Then we'll need a bigger van." Molly grinned, already plotting how to explain to their fence why they were trying to sell a rhinestone-covered miniature horse.