Molly crouched behind a row of brightly colored folding chairs at the edge of Mrs. Higginbottom’s backyard. The children’s party inside sounded like a festival of sugar-fueled shrieks. She tapped her earpiece. “Bill, are you in position?” Bill peered around the faded inflatable unicorn. His fluorescent orange safety vest felt hideous under his jacket. He stifled a sneeze. “Almost,” he whispered. “My boots are stuck in the mulch.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Did you bring the pry bar or just your existential dread?” “I have both,” Bill said, prying a boot loose. “Now tell me this again: why a children’s party?” Molly checked her watch. “Because every kid gets at least five presents worth twenty bucks or more. It’s Christmas in April.” Bill shuddered. “I’m still traumatized by the piñata fiasco.” Molly glanced at the side door of the backyard. Through the window, she spotted Aunt Gertrude organizing party hats on a table. Two children chased each other with cake frosting. “Gates open in thirty seconds. Move.” They slipped inside with the grace of clumsy cats. Molly held the getaway bag, a glittery pink duffel she’d bought ironically. Bill followed, balancing on tiptoes. Inside the house, pastel balloons floated at ceiling height. A banjo recording played holiday jingles on loop. The cake table sat in the center, surrounded by presents in shiny paper. Molly pointed at the tower of boxes. “Target acquired.” She moved toward the pile. Bill shook his head. “Ever think about redeeming yourself? I mean, we could volunteer at a soup kitchen.” Molly snorted. “We’re professional criminals, not card-carrying do-gooders.” Bill sighed. He produced a small mirror from his pocket and scanned behind the cake table. “Security cams. Disabled?” Molly bobbed her head triumphantly. “One Blackout Torch, two severed wires. That’s a hack for you.” They reached the pile. Molly grabbed a rectangular gift wrapped in metallic blue paper. “Easy pickings. Socks for Mr. Jenkins, a remote-controlled car for that sugar-crazed kid.” Bill jabbed at the bag’s opening. “Right. Just grab everything and run?” Molly grinned. “Exactly.” She stuffed box after box into the bag. Bill hesitated by the window. “Do you ever worry we’ll get caught?” Molly paused, staring at the cake display. A smear of purple icing looked like an accusatory fingerprint. “Maybe. But imagine retiring on a tropical island with enough kids’ toys to choke a reindeer.” Bill smiled reluctantly. “Fair point.” They heaved the bag onto Bill’s shoulder and in perfect unison tiptoed toward the door. Two giggling children spun around a piñata hanging above the exit. Molly froze. Bill swallowed. They waited for the sugar storm to pass. When the coast cleared, they sprinted into the night, the jingles echoing behind them like mocking holiday bells. They vanished into the night air, hearts racing with adrenaline and bold dreams of mischief. Bill: “Next party, same plan?” Molly: “Absolutely, partner.”