Molly tapped her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as she peered through binoculars at the suburban house across the street. Balloons tied to the mailbox danced in the afternoon breeze. A banner reading "Happy 8th Birthday Emma!" stretched across the front porch. Cars lined the driveway, and the muffled sound of children's laughter occasionally drifted to their sedan parked fifty yards away. Bill slouched in the passenger seat, munching on a candy bar he'd pilfered from the gas station an hour earlier. "Would you stop eating?" Molly hissed, lowering the binoculars. "You're getting chocolate on the upholstery." Bill examined the smear on his fingers and wiped them on his jeans. "Sorry. Nervous habit. Besides, we've been sitting here for forty minutes. How much longer before we make our move?" "Until the clown arrives," Molly said, consulting her notebook where she'd scribbled their intelligence. "Timing is everything. Once Giggles the Clown starts his routine in the backyard, all eyes will be on him. That's our window." Bill snorted. "Giggles? Seriously? Clowns are nightmare fuel. I'd rather face a security guard than a clown any day." "That's why you're not eight years old," Molly replied, returning the binoculars to her eyes. "According to my research, the presents are stacked in the living room. Standard protocol for these suburban birthday extravaganzas." "Remind me why we're stealing from children again?" Bill asked, crumpling his candy wrapper. Molly sighed. "We're not stealing from children. We're stealing from parents who spend ridiculous amounts of money trying to outdo each other with presents. Designer clothes, electronics, gift cards. Easy to fence, untraceable. The perfect score." "Still feels low, even for us." Bill scratched his stubbled chin. "I mean, we robbed that art gallery last month. That had class." "And security cameras, and a night watchman, and a police response time of under three minutes," Molly countered. "This is simpler. Cleaner. Lower risk." Bill adjusted his fake delivery uniform. "If you say so. But if some kid starts crying, I'm out." "Nobody will cry because nobody will know we were there until after the party. The presents don't get opened until after cake," Molly explained, tapping her notebook. "Speaking of which, these people ordered a chocolate ganache layer cake from Bellevue Bakery. That's top-shelf birthday cake." "Now I'm hungry again," Bill complained. Suddenly, Molly straightened. "There! The clown car just pulled up." They watched as a tiny vehicle parked and a lanky man in rainbow attire emerged, gathering props from his trunk. "That's our cue," Molly said, tucking her binoculars into the glove compartment. "Remember the plan. We're backup delivery drivers with a last-minute present. Get in, grab the haul, get out. Five minutes max." Bill nodded, pulling a baseball cap low over his eyes. "Roger that. Operation Birthday Bandit is go." "I told you not to name the operations," Molly groaned, starting the engine. "It's unprofessional." "Whatever. You ready to crash this party?" "Born ready," Molly replied with a sly grin. "Let's go ruin a birthday."