Molly crouched behind Mrs. Patterson's prized rose bushes, thorns snagging her black sweater as she peered through the kitchen window. The sound of shrieking children and off-key birthday singing drifted from the backyard, where colorful balloons bobbed in the afternoon breeze. A magnificent pile of wrapped presents sat unguarded on the dining room table, practically begging to be liberated. Bill stumbled through the hedge behind her, his oversized ski mask already askew and catching twigs. He landed with all the grace of a falling piano, immediately stepping on a squeaky dog toy that some kid had abandoned in the flower bed. "Smooth as silk, Bill," Molly whispered, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself a headache. "Sorry, boss. These eye holes don't line up right. I can only see out of one at a time." "Then fix it before we go in there. I refuse to get caught because you walked into a sliding glass door again." Bill yanked at his mask, which promptly twisted completely backward. He spun in a confused circle, arms outstretched like a very incompetent ninja. Molly watched this display with the patience of a saint who had given up sainthood for a life of petty crime. She had partnered with Bill because he was loyal, dependable, and had a van. She definitely hadn't chosen him for his criminal mastermind potential. The birthday song reached its crescendo, followed by enthusiastic cheering and the unmistakable sound of cake being demolished by small hands. Perfect timing. "Alright, Bill, can you see now?" "Crystal clear, boss. Wait, is that a unicorn?" Molly followed his gaze to where a pony wearing a plastic horn was giving rides to delighted children. Sometimes she wondered if the universe was deliberately mocking her life choices. "Focus, Bill. Remember the plan?" "Right. You go in through the front door like you're dropping off a late present. I create a distraction by the back fence. You grab the goods and meet me at the van." "And what's your distraction going to be?" Bill reached into his backpack and pulled out what appeared to be a rubber chicken wearing a tiny cape. "I'm going to throw Super Clucky over the fence and make ghost noises. Kids love mysterious poultry." Molly stared at the ridiculous fowl, then at Bill's earnest expression visible through his crooked mask holes. Six years of community college, a master's degree in art history, and crushing student loan debt had led her to this moment: critiquing rubber chicken-based criminal strategies with a man who once got his head stuck in a mailbox. "You know what, Bill? That's either completely brilliant or completely insane." "Thanks, boss. I was going for both." The birthday chaos reached new heights as someone started a water balloon fight. Molly adjusted her stolen soccer mom disguise, grabbed a hastily wrapped empty box, and prepared to commit the most ridiculous heist of her questionable career.