Molly crouched behind a bush, peering through the slats of a wooden fence. Across the suburban yard, an explosion of colorful balloons bobbed in the breeze, and the faint sound of laughter drifted through the air. Bill shifted uneasily beside her, his shirt slightly too large and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The plan was simple, at least on paper: infiltrate the children’s birthday party, snatch the presents, and vanish without a trace. Simple, except for the part where a bunch of sugar-high kids might tackle them to the ground. “Are you sure this is the best idea? Neighborhood kids have a crazy radar for weirdos,” Bill whispered, eyes darting around like a cartoon squirrel. Molly smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “If you think about it, presents are just unguarded treasure chests. Nobody locks up teddy bears or that giant inflatable unicorn. It’s like the pirate’s jackpot of suburban America.” She nudged Bill. “Plus, kids are distracted by cake. Cake is our friend.” Bill squinted. “I’m more worried about the parents. That one by the barbecue looks like he’s trying to hide a shotgun under the grill.” “Relax. Old guy with a grill obsession is not exactly a SWAT team. Now, here’s the timeline.” Molly pulled a crumpled napkin from her pocket and unfolded it with the kind of reverence one might reserve for the Declaration of Independence. “Ten minutes until cake, twenty until sugar crash. We hit right after the piñata.” “Wait, the piñata?” Bill asked, frowning. “Are we going to use a stick to bash it open, or...?” “Not us. The kids will fluff the pinata to bits. Then the chaos starts. People scrambling for M&Ms and mini bags of chips. That’s our window.” Molly grinned. “You’ll be the distraction at the other side of the yard, waving wildly with the spare balloon. I’ll do the grab-and-go.” She poked him in the ribs. “Think fast, Bill. The moment the sugar hits, we vault the fence.” Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like this. What if one of them calls out, ‘Hey! Are you the new clown?’ I really don’t want to be a clown.” “No clowning around today. Just thieves in tights.” Molly glanced around, then lowered her voice. “Remember, we’re blending in. We brought those ridiculous party hats for disguise.” “You mean the ones with the glitter and the tiny pom-poms?” Bill’s lip twitched. “Exactly,” Molly said, grinning. “Who suspects thieves in fuzzy cone hats? Now, on my signal—” A sudden shriek cut through the air, followed by a loud cheer. The piñata had met its doom exactly ten minutes early. Kids swarmed the smashed paper-mâché remains, diving for candy like tiny underwater treasure hunters. “Now!” Molly hissed. She darted forward, weaving through a shifting crowd of sugar-fueled mayhem. Bill hesitated, clutching his balloon like a lifeline. A small hand grabbed his sleeve. “Are you here for the magic show?” a tiny girl demanded. Bill stumbled, faltering on his words. “Uh, no. Just... uh, balloon appreciation.” Molly rolled her eyes from twenty feet away and stuffed an assortment of presents under her oversized jacket—wrapped boxes adorned with cartoon characters, shiny ribbons, and suspiciously light weight. The sound of parents corralling their kids distracted everyone except for the determined toddler still gripping Bill’s leg. “Look, I gotta go find the punch,” Bill muttered, extricating himself like a magician escaping chains. Together, they made a beeline for the gate, a parade of disappointed children calling after them, “Wait! You forgot the unicorn!” Molly didn’t look back. “Next time, Bill. Next time.” Bill adjusted his glittery hat and grinned. “What’s the next job? Swiping the piñata sticks?” “If it pays well,” Molly said, “I’m in.”