Molly drummed her fingers on the diner table, eyeing the half-empty cup of coffee going cold between them. The neon sign outside cast a sickly green glow across Bill's weathered face. "You can't be serious about this job," Molly said, shaking her head. "Dead serious. Think about it – twenty wrapped presents, minimum. Could be iPads, gaming consoles, who knows?" "It's a six-year-old's birthday party, Bill." Bill leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Exactly. Rich parents trying to outdo each other. Premium stuff." "There'll be like forty kids running around." "Perfect cover. Nobody notices adults at these things. They're too busy managing sugar-high monsters." Molly sighed, pushing her coffee away. "And your brilliant plan is to dress as party clowns?" "Got the suits in my car. Red noses and everything." "I hate clowns." "That's why you'll be so convincing – genuine terror on your face." A waitress topped up their coffees as Molly buried her face in her hands. "This is a new low, even for us." "Hey, crime doesn't take holidays. Or birthday parties off."