Molly crouched behind the inflatable bouncy castle, peering through her rhinestone-studded binoculars at the chaos unfolding in the suburban backyard. A dozen sugar-fueled seven-year-olds shrieked with delight while chasing each other around picnic tables laden with juice boxes and half-eaten cake. The present table sat unguarded near the back patio, practically begging for liberation. "This feels morally questionable, even for us," Bill whispered, adjusting his ridiculous disguise. The rainbow wig kept sliding sideways, and his oversized polka-dot bow tie had somehow managed to dip itself into the neighbor's birdbath during their reconnaissance mission. "Says the man who once stole a guide dog," Molly hissed back, never taking her eyes off the target. "Besides, we're not stealing from children. We're stealing from parents who clearly have disposable income. Look at this place." She gestured wildly at the elaborate party setup. A professional magician was pulling increasingly alarmed rabbits from various hats while parents sipped wine and pretended to supervise. Balloons shaped like exotic animals bobbed overhead, and what appeared to be a small petting zoo had been assembled near the garden shed. "The guide dog thing was a misunderstanding," Bill protested, attempting to straighten his wig with limited success. "I thought it was just a really well-trained regular dog. And technically, I gave it back." "Only after it led you directly to the police station." The birthday girl, a gap-toothed blonde in a tiara that could probably fund a small yacht, began unwrapping presents with the methodical efficiency of a seasoned demolition expert. Wrapping paper flew in all directions like festive shrapnel. "What's our exit strategy?" Bill asked, watching a clown emerge from what he had previously assumed was a decorative garden gnome. This party was getting more surreal by the minute. "Same as always. Run very fast in opposite directions and meet at the rendezvous point," Molly replied, checking her watch. The plan required precise timing and a disturbing amount of knowledge about seven-year-old attention spans. "Which is where, exactly?" "The Chuck E. Cheese parking lot on Fifth Street. If we're going to steal from a children's party, we might as well commit to the theme." Bill sighed deeply, accepting his fate as he did before all of Molly's schemes. "I'm starting to think we should have stuck with art forgery. At least paintings don't scream when you touch them." "Where's your sense of adventure?" Molly grinned, pulling on latex gloves decorated with tiny cartoon unicorns. "Besides, think of the resale value on that motorized toy Ferrari." "You're assuming we don't get trampled by a herd of hyperactive children first." "That's what the emergency sugar packets are for. Create chaos, grab the goods, and vanish like birthday party ninjas."