The fluorescent lights of the dingy motel room flickered as Molly spread out the crude blueprints of the children's birthday venue across the rickety folding table. Bill leaned back in a chair that creaked under his weight, munching on stale potato chips. "So," Molly said, tracing her finger along the diagram, "the presents will be stacked in the corner near the bounce house. Classic rookie mistake by the parents." Bill swallowed a mouthful of chips. "How many we talking about?" "At least twenty wrapped gifts, maybe more. Little Timmy's turning seven, and from the looks of the invite I snagged, these parents are compensating for something big." The room fell silent except for the occasional crinkle of the chip bag. Bill adjusted his baseball cap, revealing a thin line of sweat across his forehead. "Security?" "Minimal. One part-time clown, two parents, and a grandmother who looks like she's more interested in her phone than watching the kids." Molly pulled out a series of photographs, spreading them across the blueprints. Bill leaned forward, his chair protesting with a sharp squeak. "That's the entry point?" "Precisely. Side door near the kitchen. Cheap lock, probably installed by the lowest bidder. I can have it open in less than twenty seconds." "And the getaway?" Molly grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Classic van parked two blocks away. Rental, clean plates, no connection to us." "How much we looking at?" Bill asked, brushing chip crumbs from his shirt. "Conservative estimate? Two, maybe three grand in gifts. High-end electronics, collector's items, the usual rich parent overcompensation." Bill chuckled. "A children's birthday party heist. Never thought I'd see the day." "Hey, money's money," Molly retorted, rolling up the blueprints. "Besides, these kids won't even remember half the gifts. We're basically performing a public service." The plan was simple. Dress as catering staff, slip in during the chaos of the party, grab the presents, and vanish before anyone realizes what happened. Just another day at the office for Molly and Bill. Bill stood, stretching his bulky frame. "We hit it tomorrow at 2 PM?" "Exactly," Molly confirmed, tucking the documents into a nondescript manila folder. "Bring the reinforced duffel bags. These gifts aren't going to steal themselves." Another quiet chuckle passed between them, the kind shared by professionals who knew their craft too well. Outside, the motel's neon sign buzzed and flickered, casting a sickly green light across the room—a fitting backdrop for two thieves about to commit their most absurd heist yet.