The candy-striped van idled outside the community center as dusk spilled onto the street. Molly tapped her earpiece, adjusting the black mask over her ponytail. Bill peered through tinted windows at the cluster of balloons dancing above a see-through door. Presents glittered under fluorescent lights awaiting greedy fingers and mischief. "Kid’s party in five minutes," Molly whispered. "We hit the back door, grab every gift, and vanish before any toddler notices." Bill checked his pocket mirror. "I’ll blow bubbles at the snack table to lure them away. You sack the presents while they chase soap." Molly nodded. "Giraffe hats on?" Molly slipped a laminated list from her belt, scanning parent names and allergies. Bill rehearsed a pirouette with his bubble wand, a mischievous grin curling beneath his mask. Outside, a clown van rolled in. They exchanged glances. Every plan point was carved in glittery ink and mischief. Tonight, mischief begins. Molly laced up sneakers. "No squeaks," she muttered. Bill wiped sweat on his sleeve. "We sneak in, scoop pile of gifts, and slip out before they finish singing Happy Birthday." Molly arched an eyebrow. "And what if the clown blocks our exit?" Bill smirked. "Then we improvise with confetti grenades." Inside, balloons bobbed over tables groaning with snacks and gifts. Muffled giggles echoed as toddlers chased swords. The faint smell of icing and toddlers’ tears mingled thickly. Molly adjusted a giraffe horn on her mask. Bill tested the clicker on his belt. Every second ticked toward their glittering prize pile. Molly peered at the door gap. "Signal now?" Bill raised his blade. "Three, two..." He pressed a button, and a shower of bubbles drifted inside, popping softly. "Go," he hissed. Molly sprung forward. "Hurry, Bill, before they notice the empty table!" Bill raced beside her, eyes gleaming behind his mask. They darted under the arch, black-clad silhouettes slipping behind a mound of brightly wrapped boxes. The party was silent. A balloon bobbed at the front. Bill stacked bars and dolls into Molly’s bag. She zipped it quickly. Heartbeats thudded. The sound was the rustle of tissue paper promising sweet paydirt. "Clock’s ticking," Molly breathed. "Ten gifts down, thirty to go." Bill panted. "I count fifty packages. Our best yet." Molly waggled her mask. "Remember when we stole the mayor’s garden gnome?" Bill grinned. "This is easier. No muddy lawns." Molly hesitated. "What if we trip over a toy dump truck?" Feet slid across tile as they approached the gift table. Ribbons glittered under their lamps. Beyond them, a circle of chairs held sippy cups and crumpled napkins. Bill snapped the first ribbon. Molly grabbed a stack of bright boxes. Their duffels swelled. One final gift remained. They paused briefly together. Molly exhaled. "This is it." Bill pulled a metallic star box from the pile. "Watch for Grandpa?" he asked. Molly blinked. "He’ll notice that." Bill shrugged. "He’ll blame the cat." Molly rolled her eyes. "Cats flee glitter." Bill handed her the bag. "Time to vanish. Sneak out the back door."