"Bill, you can't be serious." "Dead serious. Think about it, Molly. Rich kids' party. Ponies, magicians, the works. Those presents? Top shelf stuff." "It's a seven-year-old's birthday party." "Exactly! No security. Just soccer moms and juice boxes." "We're professional thieves, not monsters." "Since when do you have morals? You stole from that charity auction last month." "That was different. Those were adults. Rich, terrible adults." "Look, we go in dressed as clowns—" "Absolutely not." "Fine, balloon artists. We blend in, work the crowd, and when they cut the cake, we load up the presents." "What kind of getaway driver idles outside a Chuck E. Cheese?" "It's at their house, Molly. McMansion on Elm Street." "Still no." "They've got a PowerWheels collection. Limited edition." "Bill, I swear—" "And apparently little Timmy's getting a genuine Rolex. Kid can't even tell time." "A Rolex? For a seven-year-old?" "See? Now you're interested." "I hate you." "So you're in?" "We're not traumatizing any kids." "Scout's honor. We'll wait until after they leave." "You were never a Scout." "Details. You bringing the van?" "I'm bringing my shame, Bill. And yes, the van."