Molly squinted through the binoculars at the suburban house festooned with rainbow balloons and a banner reading "HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY TIMOTHY!" The sound of shrieking children and terrible karaoke renditions of Disney songs drifted across the manicured lawn. "Target acquired," she whispered into her earpiece. "Operation Birthday Bandit is a go." "Roger that," Bill's voice crackled back. "Though I still think this is a new low, even for us." "Says the man who once tried to steal a mall Santa's throne while children were sitting on it." "That was different! I thought it was made of actual gold!" Molly lowered the binoculars and adjusted her party entertainer wig, its purple curls cascading over her polka-dot jumpsuit. She'd spent three hours perfecting her clown makeup, though Bill insisted she looked more like a raccoon who'd raided a cosmetics store. "Focus, Bill. You remember the plan?" "I distract the parents with my balloon animals while you make off with the present mountain. Yes, I remember. Though I still don't understand why we can't just rob a bank like normal criminals." "Because banks have security guards who aren't hopped up on cake and fruit punch. Now get in position." Bill emerged from behind the hedges wearing a magician's cape that had seen better days and a top hat held together with duct tape. He practiced pulling a rubber chicken from his sleeve, fumbled, and sent it flying into Mrs. Henderson's prized rosebushes. "Smooth," Molly muttered. "I heard that. And for your information, that was intentional. It's called misdirection." "It's called incompetence." They crept toward the backyard gate, where the sounds of chaos intensified. Through the slats, Molly could see it: a tower of wrapped presents that would make Everest jealous. Her fingers itched at the sight of all that professionally wrapped loot. "Look at little Timmy's haul," she breathed. "That's got to be at least three gaming consoles, a bike, and... is that a drone?" "It's an eight-year-old's birthday party, not a tech convention." "Rich kids, Bill. Rich kids." A soccer ball suddenly sailed over the fence, nearly decapitating Bill. A small face appeared at the gate, chocolate smeared across his cheeks like war paint. "Hey mister, can you throw back our—" The child's eyes widened. "MOM! THERE'S A SCARY CLOWN AND A HOMELESS WIZARD IN THE YARD!" "Homeless?!" Bill sputtered. "This cape is vintage!" Molly grabbed his arm as porch lights flickered on and adult voices grew closer. They dove behind the garbage bins as the gate swung open. "I don't see anyone, sweetie," a woman's voice said. "Maybe it was just the neighbors." They held their breath until the footsteps retreated. Molly glared at Bill through her smeared makeup. "New plan?" "New plan. But next time, I'm the clown." "Over my dead body. You don't have the cheekbones for it."