Molly pressed herself against the manicured hedge, watching seven-year-olds chase each other around a bouncy castle with the intensity of a hawk stalking field mice. Beside her, Bill fumbled with a pair of theatrical binoculars he'd inexplicably purchased for this particular job. "The present table is positioned directly adjacent to the patio doors," he whispered with unnecessary formality. "Approximately forty-seven wrapped packages of varying dimensions." "Bill, you don't need to sound like a nature documentary narrator," Molly hissed back, adjusting her ridiculous disguise. The rainbow wig itched terribly, and the oversized polka-dot bow tie made her feel like she was cosplaying as a demented circus performer. Which, she supposed, wasn't entirely inaccurate. The backyard buzzed with chaos. Parents clutched wine glasses like lifelines while their offspring demolished a elaborate princess-themed setup that probably cost more than Molly's monthly rent. Pink streamers fluttered from every available surface, and enough glitter had been deployed to blind a small aircraft. "Remember the plan," Bill continued, still peering through his binoculars. "I create the distraction with the balloon animals while you execute the grab-and-dash operation." "Your balloon animals look like abstract expressionist nightmares, Bill." "That's precisely why they'll be so distracting." Molly watched a mother chase a toddler who had somehow acquired an entire chocolate cake. The birthday girl sat regally on a pink throne, wearing a tiara that sparkled with what were hopefully fake diamonds. Though knowing this neighborhood, probably not. "Are we seriously about to rob a seven-year-old's birthday party?" Molly asked, experiencing what might charitably be called a moral qualm. "Think of it as involuntary wealth redistribution," Bill replied, straightening his ridiculous suspenders. "Besides, these kids probably have more toys than most small countries." A particularly ear-piercing shriek emerged from the bouncy castle area, followed by what sounded like someone's parent having a mild breakdown. "That's our cue," Bill announced, standing up and immediately tripping over his oversized clown shoes. Molly grabbed his arm, steadying him. "Try not to fall into the punch bowl like last time." "That was one incident, and technically I created an excellent distraction." They approached the white picket fence gate, Bill carrying his suspicious bag of deflated balloons and what appeared to be a bicycle pump. Molly had stuffed several empty garbage bags into her costume's voluminous pockets, hoping they wouldn't rustle too conspicuously. "Remember, if anyone asks, you're Giggles and I'm Sparkles," Bill muttered. "I refuse to answer to Sparkles." "Fine, you're Giggles." "I'm not answering to Giggles either." Bill sighed dramatically. "This is why we never get repeat bookings in the legitimate entertainment industry." Molly pushed open the gate, immediately regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. "Let's just get this over with before someone calls the actual clowns."