Molly and Bill crouched behind the picket fence, peering through the wooden slats at the backyard festooned with balloons and streamers. A mountain of wrapped packages sat on a table near the bounce house. "Look at all those presents," Molly whispered. "Like taking candy from a baby." Bill frowned. "We're not actually taking candy from babies, right? That would be wrong." "It's an expression, Bill," Molly sighed. "We're taking presents from children. Completely different." "Is it though?" Bill scratched his head. "Morally speaking, I mean." Molly rolled her eyes. "The piñata arrives at two. That's our window." "What about the clown?" Bill pointed nervously. "What about him?" "Clowns freak me out." "Focus, Bill! You distract the parents, I'll grab the loot." Bill fidgeted with his watch. "These kids worked hard writing those letters to Santa." "Santa's not real, genius." "Still feels kinda wrong." "Remember that time little Timmy stole your lunch money in third grade?" "That was twenty years ago!" "This is cosmic justice," Molly declared, pulling on her black gloves. "Ready?" "I guess so," Bill muttered. "But I'm avoiding the clown."