The sun dipped low, illuminating the park bench where Molly and Bill hunched over a crude map drawn on a napkin. "So the birthday boy gets a mountain of presents every year," Molly whispered, tapping the X marking the Thompson residence. Bill nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Rich parents, richer guests. These kindergartners have better stuff than we do." "Parents drop off presents at three, party starts at four. That gives us a twenty-minute window when everyone's watching the clown." "A clown? Seriously?" Bill grimaced. "I hate clowns." Molly rolled her eyes. "Focus! We slip in through the side gate, grab the gifts, load them in your cousin's van." "What if some kid sees us?" "We'll wear those cartoon character costumes from Halloween. They'll think we're entertainment." Bill frowned. "Stealing from children seems... low." "Says the man who needs rent money by Monday," Molly retorted. "Besides, those spoiled brats get new stuff every week." "Fine. But we're not taking anything homemade. Or cards from grandmas." "Deal. Now, about the guard dog..." "There's a dog?!" "Relax," Molly grinned. "It's a chihuahua. Bring bacon."