Molly dumped the contents of her thrift store bag onto the plastic table, a riot of cheap party supplies cascading across the laminate surface. Bill winced as a pack of noisemakers clattered to the floor of their basement hideout. "Must you be so dramatic?" he sighed, picking up a rubber clown nose and eyeing it with disdain. "Always," Molly replied, spreading out the items like a general surveying tactical maps. "Presentation matters, Billy. Even in crime." The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across their makeshift planning center. The concrete walls, adorned with children's birthday party advertisements torn from local newspapers, made the space feel like a shrine to their peculiar obsession. Bill tapped his pen against his notepad. "Let's go over this again. The Harrington twins' birthday party, Saturday at two. Twenty-seven kids, fourteen adults, one clown—" "And approximately thirty-eight wrapped presents of premium quality," Molly finished, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "These aren't dollar store gifts, Bill. The Harringtons live in Oakwood Heights." "I know where they live," Bill muttered. "What I don't know is why we're risking jail time for Lego sets and tricycles." Molly slid a grainy photograph across the table. "See the dad? That's Richard Harrington. Banking executive. Those aren't just any presents. Last year, little Madison got a genuine pearl necklace. Tommy got a junior Rolex." "What kind of seven-year-old needs a Rolex?" "The kind whose gifts we're going to liberate," Molly said, tugging on a pair of bright purple gloves. "Besides, you said yourself we needed an easier score after the museum debacle." Bill shuddered at the memory. "Those motion sensors weren't on the blueprints." "Neither was that security guard's taser. My left eye still twitches when I smell electricity." Molly held up two garish polyester outfits. "I got us uniforms. Party entertainers. You're the dancing monkey." "I'm not wearing that," Bill said flatly, pushing away the costume with its attached tail. "Why can't I be the clown?" "Your face scares children even without makeup." The silence between them grew until Bill finally reached for the monkey suit. "One condition: no improvisation this time. We get in, we grab the haul during the cake cutting, we vanish." "You're overthinking it," Molly said, applying adhesive to a false mustache. "Children's parties are chaotic by design. Nobody will notice a little gift shrinkage amid the sugar-fueled pandemonium." Bill ran his fingers through thinning hair. "Why can't we rob ATMs like normal thieves?" "Because," Molly said, leaning forward with mischief dancing in her eyes, "normal is boring. And those Harrington twins? They're getting life lessons in disappointment and sharing. We're practically providing a community service." Bill reluctantly began sorting through the supplies. "If we get caught, I'm telling the police this was entirely your idea." "You always say that," Molly grinned, tossing him a package of balloons. "Yet you're still here, planning heist number seventeen." He caught the balloons with a slight smile. "Heist sixteen. The zoo incident doesn't count." "Oh, it absolutely counts," Molly laughed. "Those flamingos will never be the same."