The aroma of stale beer and desperation clung to Bill’s tweed jacket like a second skin. Across a sticky pub table, Molly, all sharp angles and a knowing glint in her eye, reviewed his blueprints. “So, to recap,” Molly said, “your grand, intricate plan to pilfer the entirety of the ‘Happy Sparkle Rainbow Unicorn Birthday Bash’ haul involves… a bouncy castle?” Bill puffed out his chest, a singular, defiant button on his waistcoat straining. “It’s a distraction. A highly effective, inflatable distraction.” Molly scratched her chin, a gesture that almost looked thoughtful. “And the ‘target’ is the presents, specifically the ones belonging to little Tiffany, the daughter of Councilman Grimshaw, who I hear has a penchant for gifting his offspring… well, let’s just say ‘excessive.’” “Gold-plated hoverboards, miniature diamond-encrusted tiaras, a pony that farts rainbows… the usual Grimshaw fare,” Bill confirmed with a flick of his wrist. “The good stuff will be in a separate collection, pre-sorted, probably in the butler’s pantry.” “But to get to the butler’s pantry, we need to bypass the Grimshaw family security. Which, as I recall from our last unfortunate encounter with their estate, includes a retired SAS commando who waters the petunias.” “Gerald,” Bill nodded sagely. “A creature of habit. His afternoon tea, precisely at three-fifteen, is our window.” Molly leaned back, a conspiratorial smile playing on her lips. “And the children? The innocent, sugar-crazed minions who will undoubtedly be our biggest obstacle?” “That, my dear Molly, is where the bouncy castle comes in. As soon as young Tiffany… shall we say… ‘deactivates’ it, the ensuing pandemonium will be precisely what we need to slip in unnoticed.” “Deactivates it?” Molly raised an eyebrow. “How exactly does one ‘deactivate’ a bouncy castle?” Bill’s grin widened, revealing a flicker of genuine mischief. “I’ve bribed the clown. A particularly bitter man named Boffo who claims his balloon animals are ‘misunderstood art.’ He’s promised a strategically placed tack.” Molly snorted, a laugh rumbling in her chest. “Boffo the Clown. This just keeps getting better. So, while Boffo unleashes inflatable havoc, and Gerald sips his Earl Grey, we waltz into the pantry, grab the Grimshaw glitter-bombs, and vanish into the suburban ether?” “Precisely.” “And our exit strategy?” Molly asked, a familiar glint returning to her eyes. “Last time, you suggested a tandem unicycle and a flock of trained pigeons.” Bill winced. “I’ve refined it. A less… ‘noticeable’ exit. We’ll be utilizing the refuse collection system. The bins are emptied right after the party. We’ll blend right in.” Molly considered this, a slow grin spreading across her face. “So, we’re going dumpster diving for diamonds?” “Think of it as eco-friendly thievery,” Bill countered with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re mad, Bill. Completely, utterly mad.” “And you, Molly, are brilliant. Now, about those grappling hooks hidden inside the unicorn piñata…”