Molly peered out from behind the crooked fence, squinting at the brightly decorated house. “You sure this is the place? Looks like a damn birthday bonanza in there.” Bill adjusted his baseball cap, trying to look casual but failing miserably. “Yeah, Molly. According to Little Timmy’s Instagram, this is the jackpot. Thirty kids, a mountain of presents, and a cake that probably costs more than my car.” Molly sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose. “You mean that sickly sweet smell? It’s like candy and despair mixed into one.” Bill grinned. “Despair is right. Those kids are gonna cry when we're done. We hit this party, we clean house — well, clean gift table. Easy money.” Molly glanced at her watch. “The cake’s been getting passed around for twenty minutes. We need to make a move before sugar-hyped mania turns into toddler tornado.” Bill nodded. “Alright, mission plan: I distract the parents with some charming small talk while you sneak into the living room and grab the sack of loot.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “Charming small talk? You? Last time you tried to chat someone up, they ended up calling the cops on us.” Bill shrugged, sheepish. “That was a misunderstanding. I was just being, uh, enthusiastic.” Molly tapped her foot. “Enthusiastic enough to confess you 'borrowed' their garden gnome. Anyway, what if I get caught? There’s like fifty eyeballs at that party.” Bill waved her worry away. “I’ve got our exit covered. Look, there’s the back gate. When you’re loaded with presents, I’ll create a diversion. Maybe set off the sprinkler system. Kids hate that, chaos guaranteed.” Molly chuckled. “You and your sprinkler obsession. Sprinklers are like the cockroaches of garden features—always popping up at the worst time.” Bill grinned. “Exactly! It’s foolproof. Kid chaos plus soaked adults equals perfect cover.” Molly shook her head. “Okay, so when I get inside, how do I find the loot? Are the presents under the tree, or did Timmy’s parents stick them somewhere sneaky?” Bill scratched his head. “From the photos? Mostly under the tree. But there’s also a pile by the couch and—oh!—the pinata. McGuffin’s hiding somewhere in that candy-filled monster.” Molly’s eyes sparkled. “Pinata raids are messy. Are you planning on breaking it open?” Bill shrugged. “Might have to, unless we want to miss the good stuff.” Molly laughed. “Picture this: two crooks smashing a piñata while toddlers scream. Could lead to a career change for us, maybe clowning.” Bill smirked. “Clowns at a party? Now that’s terrifying.” Molly glanced back at the house. “Look, this is all fun and games, but we need a signal. When I have the gifts, how do I let you know?” Bill pulled out a squeaky rubber duck from his jacket. “I throw this from the back fence. You hear the quack, I know you’re ready.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “Really, Bill? A rubber duck?” Bill shrugged again. “It’s loud. Catchy. Plus, it’s goofy. Helps me stay calm.” Molly shook her head but smiled. “Alright, Duck Quack it is. Let’s do this before the cake sugar crashes the kids.” Bill stretched his arms dramatically. “To the heist, partner! May the presents be ever in our favor.” Molly grinned. “And may the toddlers save some bubbles for our grand exit.” Bill winked. “Ready when you are. Showtime!”