Molly crept between two garbage bins under the party hall’s back window, moonlight painting her outline against peeling brick. She tapped Bill’s shoulder. Molly: “You ready to swipe some sugar-high spoils, or do I need to sing the birthday song at gunpoint?” Bill: “I only sing karaoke for snacks, and I’m fresh out. What’s the plan, boss?” Molly popped her knuckles. A squeaky scavenger hunts list fluttered in her hand. Molly: “We go in through the side entrance. The caterer’s unloading cupcakes—smoke bomb distraction. You set it off by the table, I snag the gifts.” Bill: “Cupcakes? Molly, you know I’m lactose intolerant. Even my cowardice can’t stomach dairy.” Molly rolled her eyes. Molly: “It’s powdered. Lactose removed. Also, it’s not about the cupcakes; it’s about chaos. Kids see smoke, they scream.” Bill: “I scream too, but mostly when you breathe down my neck.” She winked, brandishing a pack of smoke pellets. Molly: “Relax. I’ve tested these in your basement. Only smell was bacon. Smoked ham cupcakes—delightful.” Bill: “Excellent. Nothing says children’s party like the scent of pig.” Molly crouched lower. Molly: “Inside, they’ll herd kids into the bounce castle panic zone. While they’re bouncing, we’re bouncing with every toy under that tent.” Bill: “I’ve never seen a bounce castle panic zone. Sounds like a government facility.” Molly: “Better. No CCTV that counts kids sniffing smoke. We’ll have two minutes. Then we skedaddle.” Bill: “Two minutes? My record for three-minute-egg-drop was seven seconds late.” Molly: “Perfect! You have seven seconds to fill your bag before Katie’s party parents notice missing action figures.” Bill: “Action figures, check. Dolls, check. Plus, I’m eyeing that giant plush unicorn. It could be my totem.” Molly: “You’re a grown man with a unicorn plush. Therapy might be cheaper than this heist.” Bill: “Therapy has no resale value. Now shut up and let me focus.” Molly signaled the time. Molly: “Go.” Bill crept forward. Molly tossed a smoke pellet through the open window. A puff of gray spiraled in. Inside, it was chaos: shrieking children, disoriented moms, a kid face-planting into a piñata. Bill: (voice low) “Holy confetti tornado.” Molly: (grinning) “That’s our cue.” They slipped inside. Bill stalked the gift table, tossing teddy bears and battery-operated race cars into his duffel. Molly vaulted onto the cake table, scooping party hats and squirting cake frosting into her pockets. Molly: “So much sprinkles. I’ll exfoliate for weeks.” Bill: “Hurry! I think a clown just noticed me.” Molly craned her neck. Molly: “More like a sugar-fueled monster. That Joker face paint gives him away.” Bill zipped his bag. Bill: “And—done. What about the unicorn?” Molly tossed it. Molly: “Grab it, you majestic freak.” Bill caught the plush unicorn midair, almost dropping a stack of superhero action figures. Bill: “It’s more majestic than me.” Molly winked and sprinted for the window. Molly: “Race you to the dumpsite!” Bill: “On three.” Molly: “One… two… three!” They vaulted through the window, tumbling into the alley where their getaway van waited, gifts in tow and cake frosting on their boots. Molly: “Score?” Bill patted his bulging bag. Bill: “jackpot. Now, let’s find an empty playground and divvy up loot.” Molly: “Best night ever.”