Molly drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the cheerful balloon bouquet bobbing in the suburban breeze. The balloons—shaped like cartoon characters with grotesquely large eyes—were tied to the mailbox of 347 Maple Street, marking the location of tomorrow's target. "You're sure about this?" Bill asked, slouching in the passenger seat and adjusting his binoculars. His weathered face contorted with something between amusement and doubt. "I mean, children's birthday presents? That's scraping the bottom of the moral barrel, even for us." Molly shot him a withering look. "You weren't complaining about moral barrels when we hit that nun's retirement party last month." "That was different," Bill protested, lowering the binoculars. "Sister Agnes had a vintage coin collection worth actual money. This is just... toys and stuff." The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the quiet street as Molly pulled out her notebook. She sketched a crude floor plan based on their earlier reconnaissance. "Look, the invitation said four to seven p.m. The parents will be distracted with screaming sugar-high kids, the garage door will be open for guests coming and going, and the present table is always in the same location—just inside the front hallway." Bill sighed dramatically. "Remind me why we're targeting little Timmy's seventh birthday again?" "Tommy," Molly corrected automatically. "And because my cousin's kid has the same birthday next week, and I'm broke. Plus, suburban parents go insane with gift-giving these days. We're talking tablets, gaming systems, gift cards. Resale value is solid." "This feels pathetic," Bill muttered, watching a minivan slow down to admire the decorations. "We used to hit jewelry stores." Molly snorted. "We used to get caught hitting jewelry stores. This has zero security and guaranteed return. Besides, you owe me after the casino fiasco." Bill winced at the memory. "Fair point." "So tomorrow," Molly continued, tapping her pen against the notebook, "I create the distraction in the backyard. Something with the bounce house—maybe I 'accidentally' start deflating it." "While I sweep the present table and load everything into the getaway car," Bill finished. "Disguised as..." "The clown's assistant," Molly said, grinning wickedly. "I've got the outfit in the trunk." Bill's face fell. "You can't be serious." "Red nose, floppy shoes, the works." "I have dignity, Molly." "You have three outstanding warrants and terrible credit. Dignity isn't in your portfolio," she replied, starting the car. "Besides, nobody suspects the clown." Bill stared morosely out the window as they pulled away from the curb. "This is a new low. Stealing from children while dressed as a clown's assistant." Molly shrugged, her eyes glittering with mischief. "Think of it as career diversification. If it makes you feel better, we'll leave the card with the twenty dollars from his grandma." "How generous," Bill deadpanned, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "Tommy will be devastated." "Tommy will live," Molly said, turning onto the main road. "Besides, disappointment builds character."