The broken streetlamp cast jittery shadows over the overstuffed bushes cluttered outside the fenced yard where laughter roared inside. Molly crouched low, her leather gloves resting on damp grass. Bill perched on a rickety fence, eyeing colorful balloons bobbing overhead. Party hats peeked through the window. Molly: All right, Bill, here’s the plan. We slip through the gate, avoid the turtle, and sneak past the snack table. Bill, did you secure the Santa suit? Bill: Right here. But if the clown notices, the microphone echoes through the whole house. Molly: Cookie crumb trail to mislead him. Then scoop up loot. Their breath formed white clouds in the night air. Molly’s heart pounded as she checked her watch. Children's laughter echoed from the open window. Bill shifted, glancing toward a turtle statue guarding the flowerbed. Every detail mattered in this high-stakes operation. Adrenaline sent shivery prickles. Fog rolled in, masking distant headlights. Bill: Muffled the van’s engine? We can’t have squeaks. Molly: It hums like a kitten. Bill: What about Mrs. Peterson’s guard dog? Molly: I slipped sedative into her water bowl. Sleepy puppy entry. Bill: Let’s roll before the cake cutting begins. We’ll be gone before anyone smells fudge. And don’t forget your tiny masks. They dashed around to the garden shed where the teeny gray van sat waiting. Molly rummaged the compartment, extracting a child-proof lock cutter. Bill patted his thigh, checking the tiny glitter bomb and a spool of noise-canceling tape. Excitement lit their faces like stage lights. Thunder rumbled softly above cracking pavement. Molly: Map says number twelve Elm Street. We go in at eight. Bill: Eight? Cake cutters and parents on patrol. Molly: We avoid them, then sweep up sprinkles. Bill: Grab presents, zip out before alarms. Molly: Kids’ party hats and gloves for disguise. Then quietly meet back at the van parked behind hedges immediately. By eight the party was in swing. A squad of giggling toddlers blocked the entrance. Bill scanned the room through tinted goggles, marking hundreds of wrapped boxes stacked atop tables. Molly tapped her earpiece and flashed Bill a thumbs-up. Brightly festively colored streamers dangled inside. Soft jazz strained through paper-thin walls. Molly: Showtime. I’ll snag the giant teddy by the punch bowl. Bill: Chocolate cake will stain our gloves red, excellent cover. Molly: Better to use pizza slices; everyone loves pizza. Bill: After grabbing gifts, we stage a pizza box distraction. Molly: Classic move. Then we melt into the night with softer than cake footsteps. From the window ledge, Bill lowered the grappling hook. Molly caught it at its motor’s hum. They clambered over the fence and slipped inside. The room glowed with lights. A trophy shelf sagged under star trophies. Piles of presents waited under a tree, unguarded, unsuspecting. An ominous ticking clock undermined confidence. Bill: Bear in hand, dolls and cars too. We hit every table. Molly: Watch the confetti; our van is loaded. Bill: We vanish before anyone misses their best friends. Molly: Cheers to the heist.