Molly perched on the edge of a rusty park bench, twisting a paperclip between her fingers like it was a magic wand and not an improvised lock pick. Bill lounged nearby, kicking an empty soda can as if it were a soccer ball he was pretending to be good at. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the quiet suburban street where the party was about to happen. “So, let me get this straight,” Molly said, eyes narrowing. “We’re breaking into a kids’ party to steal presents. Why did we even take this job?” Bill grinned, flashing a missing tooth like it was a badge of honor. “Easy money, Molls. No security, no guards—just a bunch of tykes too busy eating cake to notice. Plus, I bet there’s some seriously expensive toys in those gift bags.” Molly raised one eyebrow. “You seriously think a sugar-high mob of five-year-olds is our best security risk assessment? Remember the last job? The one with the inflatable zoo? We barely escaped those clowns.” Bill chuckled. “Yeah, but the clowns were advertising themselves. These kids—no clue we’re coming. It’s the element of surprise. Fast, clean, grab and go. No clowns, no bounce houses. Just an army of toddlers with sticky fingers and zero attention span.” Molly sighed, pocketing the paperclip. “Alright, let’s talk logistics. The party's at 3 Peachtree Lane, right?” Bill nodded, pulling out a wrinkled invitation. “Yep. It’s in the Johnsons’ backyard. Big house, big yard, but tiny fence. Easy climb. Oh, and the kid’s turning six. Lots of ‘big boy’ toys expected.” Molly leaned in, lowering her voice as if the neighbors were seeping through the cracks. “Security?” Bill made a face, like he’d just tasted sour milk. “Four parents, maximum security. Mostly glued to the backyard chaos with their perp-sized cocktails. They’re distracted.” “Perfect,” Molly said. “So, our plan is?” Bill waved a hand dramatically. “Stage one: Infiltrate disguised as entertainers. Clowns, magicians, balloon animals—heck, I can do an awkward joke or two.” Molly groaned. “You? Circus clown?” “Hey, I do a mean ‘rabbit out of the hat’—minus the rabbit. Stage two: While they’re all giggling, you slip around back and snag the presents.” Molly smirked. “And if the parents get suspicious?” Bill shrugged. “Well, that’s when we deploy Plan B. Run like hell with a few gifts tucked under our arms.” Molly shook her head, half amused, half horrified. “Seriously, Bill. We need disguises. Maybe some fake mustaches?” “Absolutely. I’ve got a stash of fake noses and hats. Plus, I borrowed the neighbor’s toy magic wand for authenticity.” Molly tapped her chin thoughtfully. “What about timing? The cake cutting? The gift opening? That’s when the distractions are highest, right?” “Exactly. Chaos equals cover. When those kids tear into presents, security’s down. That’s our window.” Bill grinned, hopeful. “Ten minutes tops. In and out before anyone notices. Fifteen if we’re real slow.” Molly’s eyes glittered. “Alright, partner-in-crime, but if we get caught, I’m blaming you and that terrible joke about the chicken crossing the road.” Bill gave a mock salute. “Deal. But if this works, we’re retiring to a tropical island with all the loot.” Molly laughed. “First, we survive the sugar-induced chaos. Then, the island.” Bill stood, stretching dramatically. “Alright, let’s prep our gear. Clown noses, magic wand, and an escape route that doesn’t involve a bouncy castle.” Molly stood too, shaking off her doubt. “Fine. But if I get hit with a balloon animal, I’m retiring from this heist.” Bill grinned wide enough to make a chess master nervous. “No promises, Molly. No promises.”