Molly peered through the smudged windshield of their battered blue van, clutching a crumpled paper map with fingers sticky from melted gummy worms. "Bill," she muttered, adjusting her purple wig in the rearview mirror, "I'm telling you, the clown outfit’s too much." Bill, wearing a suit three sizes too small and an enormous red bowtie, clicked a pen repeatedly and shot her a suspicious look. "You said blending in, Mol. And everyone's got a clown at these things! You want to be the chaperone with the cold coffee and existential dread?" She rolled her eyes. "Not when there’s a bounce castle. You’re going to rupture something in those trousers. Also, the klaxon horn’s overkill." He grinned, flourishing the bulb horn with a flourish. "It’s a classic. Besides, who’s going to suspect a clown? Pure innocence." Molly snorted. "That’s what Pennywise thought too." She glanced at the paper. "Schedule says gift opening starts at three. We go in during piñata chaos, swap out the present cart, and zip out before anyone counts their loot." Bill nodded furiously. "I’ve practiced the confetti distraction." He wiped his nose with a spotted handkerchief. "Listen, when Emily, the birthday girl, takes a swing at the piñata, I’ll do the classic face-full-of-candy pratfall. While everyone’s looking at me—" "You mean cringing," interjected Molly. He frowned. "No appreciation for the arts. Anyway, while they're jazzed over the clown getting KO’d by a piñata, you cruise in with the replacement cart and swap ‘em. Keys in the kitchen, taped under the cookie jar, as per your recon?" "Affirmative," she replied, pushing up her sleeve to reveal a smudged, hand-scrawled plan. "And the science kit is mine, Bill. Last time you got all the cool loot, and I was left with a My Little Pony tea set!" Bill’s eyebrows shot up. "That tea set was deemed ‘fabulously rare’ on eBay. Besides, these are kids’ presents. We’re adults. Don’t you want something more… mature?" "Don’t knock it till you’ve sipped chamomile with Rainbow Dash," Molly deadpanned. He grinned. "Fair point." The sound of children shrieking filtered through the cracked window. From their vantage, the backyard danced with streamers, parents with weary expressions, and a cake that seemed to defy physics with its unnatural luridness. "Okay," Molly whispered, tucking the map into her overalls. "Distraction, swap, roll out. If something goes sideways…" "I’ll improvise," Bill finished. "Remember the bowling alley job? No way I’m topping knocking myself out with a SpongeBob bowling ball again." She shot him a severe look. "You’re banned from improvising, Bill. Stick to the plan. Five minutes, in and out. What’s the worst that could happen?" Bill’s smile was pure mischief. "Famous last words." They climbed out, Molly brandishing a tray of suspiciously red cupcakes, Bill clutching the confetti cannon and the horn. The wind caught their costumes, whipping Molly’s wig askew as she muttered, "Let’s get this over with before we have to actually do the chicken dance." Bill adjusted his giant shoes, winking at her. "Showtime, partner in crime." And together, with the subtlety of an elephant on rollerblades, they waded into the heart of suburbia, ready to take candy—and presents—from unsuspecting babies.