Molly adjusted her binoculars, focusing on the bouncy castle inflating in the backyard of 42 Maple Street. The colorful balloons tied to the white picket fence swayed in the gentle breeze, marking the target. "Eight kids, two parents, one clown, and a petting zoo," she reported, lowering the binoculars. "It's the mother lode, Bill." Bill hunched beside her in the bushes, leafing through a dog-eared copy of "Birthday Party Bandit Monthly." He scratched his patchy beard. "You sure about this, Mols? Last time we hit a kid's shindig, that seven-year-old caught me stuffing presents in my pants. Little demon had a grip like a vice." "That was amateur hour," Molly said, waving dismissively. "This is Timmy Henderson's fifth birthday. Look at that place—designer gift bags, premium wrapping paper. I guarantee there's at least three gaming consoles and a small fortune in gift cards in there." "Fine, but I'm not wearing the pony costume again. My back still clicks from when that Peterson kid tried to ride me." Molly rolled her eyes. "No pony costume. I've got something better." She pulled out two garish yellow shirts with cartoon faces. "We're going in as additional entertainment. MollyBill and the Magical Moments." "That's the stupidest name I've ever heard," Bill groaned, taking the shirt. "And what's our act supposed to be?" "We juggle, we sing badly, we make balloon animals that look like intestines. Parents eat that stuff up. They'll be so busy filming our embarrassment for their Instagram that they won't notice us collecting presents for our 'grand finale.'" Bill squinted at her. "How do we get out with all the loot?" "The petting zoo van," Molly said, pointing to a white vehicle parked across the street. "Driver's on a lunch break. We load up, I hotwire, we're gone before they cut the cake." "What if the kids cry when their presents go missing?" "Since when do you care about kids crying? Remember the Great Piñata Heist of 2019? You literally snatched candy from babies." Bill looked wounded. "That was different. They still had cake." "These kids will have cake too," Molly assured him. "Plus the emotional resilience that comes from early disappointment. We're teaching life lessons here." "I don't know, Mols..." "Look, the Henderson family is insured up to their eyeballs. They'll file a claim, get better presents, and little Timmy will learn that material possessions are transient. It's practically a public service." Bill sighed, pulling the yellow shirt over his head. "If we get caught, I'm telling the cops this was your idea." "Fair enough," Molly said, tucking a balloon animal kit into her pocket. "Remember, we grab the presents during the magic show confusion, then meet by the rabbit pen at exactly 3:15." "Fine. But if that clown starts making balloon animals better than us, I'm out." "Deal," Molly said, offering her hand. "To the greatest kindergarten caper of our careers." Bill reluctantly shook it. "God help us if any of those kids have smartphones."