Molly drummed her fingers on the sticky diner table, watching Bill stuff another forkful of apple pie into his mouth. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting an unflattering glow on their late-night planning session. "Look, all I'm saying is that kids' birthday parties are a goldmine," Bill said, wiping crumbs from his chin. "Think about it – thirty kids means sixty presents minimum. Parents trying to one-up each other with the expensive stuff." Molly sipped her coffee, grimacing at the burnt taste. "You want us to rob children? That's low, even for you, Bill." "Not rob. Redistribute. Besides, these are Westbrook kids. Their parents probably bought them their third iPad this year." He pulled out a crumpled blueprint of the community center and spread it across the table, nearly knocking over the sugar dispenser. The late-night waitress shot them a suspicious look. Molly lowered her voice, "And your brilliant plan is to dress up as clowns?" "Party entertainers," Bill corrected, pointing at the service entrance with a syrup-sticky finger. "The mom ordered two face painters. We show up fifteen minutes before the real ones, do a few butterflies and Spider-Men, then slip out with the goods during cake time." Molly leaned back in the vinyl booth, crossing her arms. The ceiling fan above them spun lazily, doing nothing to dispel the greasy air. "And what about the actual face painters?" Bill grinned, revealing a piece of apple stuck between his teeth. "Called them this morning pretending to be the mom. Canceled the booking. They'll never show." "You're going to make children cry on their birthday." "They'll cry for ten minutes, then their parents will buy them new stuff. Better stuff. We're basically doing them a favor." He circled the storage room on the blueprint with his fork. "This is where they'll stash the presents before the big reveal. In and out in thirty minutes." Molly watched a cockroach scurry across the linoleum floor, considering their options. Their last three jobs had been busts, and her rent was due next week. "Fine. But I'm not painting any faces. I'll handle the extraction while you distract them with your terrible art skills." "Hey, I've been practicing! My unicorns are getting better." Bill folded up the blueprint and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "We'll need supplies. Face paint, those stupid aprons they wear, and a giant bag for the haul." "What about the parents? They'll be watching everything." Bill snorted, flagging down the waitress for more coffee. "Trust me, they'll all be too busy posting party photos on Instagram to notice anything. Rich parents at kid parties are like zombies with smartphones." Molly sighed, already regretting her decision. "If we get caught, I'm telling them this was all your idea." "That's fair," Bill said, pulling out his wallet to pay the bill. "But we won't get caught. Just think – this time tomorrow, we'll be sorting through enough LEGOs and Nintendo games to fund our retirement." "Or sharing a cell," Molly muttered, but she was already mentally calculating how much they could get for a pile of unopened birthday presents on the black market.