Bill drummed his fingers on the wooden table, his eyes darting to the window every few seconds. The diner buzzed with the usual afternoon crowd, but his focus remained on the playground visible across the street, where colorful balloons swayed in the gentle breeze. "Would you stop fidgeting?" Molly hissed, stirring her coffee with unnecessary force. "You look like you're about to rob the place." "Technically, we are about to rob a place," Bill whispered back, leaning forward. "Just not this one." Molly rolled her eyes and pushed a napkin with a crude drawing toward him. "Focus. The Rivera kid's birthday party starts at three. That gives us exactly forty-seven minutes to finalize our plan." Bill studied the diagram, which showed a boxy representation of the Rivera home with X's marking entry points. "Why are we doing this again? Even for us, stealing from six-year-olds seems a bit... much." "Because," Molly said, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the table, "little Mateo Rivera is the son of Judge Rivera. The same Judge Rivera who sent my brother away for ten years." "Over a parking violation?" "It was forty-seven parking violations and that's not the point," Molly snapped. "The point is revenge. Sweet, gift-wrapped revenge." Bill sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Fine. Walk me through it again." Molly's face lit up with almost manic enthusiasm. "We arrive dressed as the clowns they hired. I called and canceled the real ones this morning." "And they didn't find that suspicious?" "I used my professional secretary voice," Molly said proudly. "Anyway, we perform for fifteen minutes—" "Wait, perform? You didn't say anything about performing!" "Can you juggle?" "No!" "Make balloon animals?" "Definitely not." Molly waved dismissively. "Just do some pratfalls then. Kids love when adults hurt themselves." Bill groaned. "Then what?" "One of us creates a distraction while the other slips into the master bedroom where all the presents are being kept before the big reveal." "How do you know where they're keeping the presents?" "I may have posed as a health inspector yesterday." "Of course you did," Bill muttered. "This is insane. You know that, right?" Molly leaned back, crossing her arms. "Do you have better plans for your Saturday? Hot date with your Netflix account?" "Low blow, Mol." "Look," she said, softening slightly. "We get in, we grab the gifts, we're out in ten minutes tops. Then we donate everything to that children's hospital downtown." Bill blinked. "Wait, we're... donating the stolen goods?" "I'm not a monster, Bill. I just want to ruin the judge's perfect day. Make him feel powerless, like my brother did." She paused, then added, "Plus, tax write-off." Bill studied his partner's face, recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw. "Fine," he relented. "But I draw the line at face paint." "Too late," Molly grinned, pulling two palettes from her bag. "I got the hypoallergenic kind. Now, how do you feel about the name 'Bonkers'?"