Molly tapped a manicured nail against the laminated party invitation. “So, just to recap, Bill, you want to infiltrate a six-year-old’s superhero birthday party, disguised as… what exactly?” Bill, a man whose natural gait was more slink than stride, adjusted the spectacles perched precariously on his nose. “Head entertainer, of course. Captain Fantastic-ish. Slightly more… *flexible* with the law of gravity. And physics in general. It’s a very loose interpretation.” “Flexible, Bill? Last time you were ‘flexible’ you ended up suspended upside down from the ventilation shaft of the National Museum of Cheese. And the cheese wasn’t even real.” “That was a complex situation involving high humidity and an unforeseen gust of wind from an open door, Molly. And the museum *said* the artisanal cheddar was real. They lied.” Molly sighed, a long, weary exhalation that suggested countless past capers gone awry. “But a children’s party? To steal presents? My professional integrity is taking a hit, Bill. I’ve fenced Fabergé eggs that felt less ethically dubious.” “Ah, but think of the *challenge*, Molly! A veritable fortress of bouncy castles and sugar-laden toddlers. The perfect cover. Who suspects the caped crusader moonlighting for cake and juice?” “Anyone with eyes, Bill. You’re six foot three, built like a brick outhouse, and haven’t seen a gym since the invention of television. Your ‘cape’ is a bedsheet you drew a comet on with a sharpie.” “Authenticity, Molly! The children will love the homemade charm. Besides, it’s a distraction. While I’m dazzling them with my… interpretive balloon artistry, you’ll be in the gift room. Swift. Silent. Deadly.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “Deadly? I’m going to be in a room full of superhero branded wrapping paper and plastic toys. The only thing in danger of dying is my dignity. And possibly my eardrums if someone gets a whistle.” “Precisely the point! Lowered expectations. Undisputed champions of subterfuge and pilfering. They’ll be expecting a clown, a magician… not us, the finest, most discerning purveyors of ill-gotten gains in the tri-county area.” He puffed out his chest, which, disconcertingly, caused the sharpie comet on his ‘cape’ to ripple like a cheap flag. The layout, painstakingly retrieved from a garbage bin outside the party supply store, was spread across the table. Arrows and circles in red pen indicated various obstacles: “Cakes & Chaos Zone,” “Pinata Peril,” and, ominously, “Parental Oversight Point – High Caffeine Levels.” “Right,” Molly conceded, tapping her pen against the map. “So my route is through the kitchen, past the discarded pizza crusts, into the ‘Gift Grotto.’ And your job is to keep every small human utterly captivated and oblivious while I make off with at least a dozen well-wrapped boxes.” “More than a dozen, Molly. Think big. Think *Optimus Prime*. Think those expensive drone toys. We’re not just taking Barbies, we’re taking the *future of play*.” Molly shuddered. “They’re six, Bill. The future of play for them is probably still a stick and a puddle. Just don’t get glitter on my getaway car. And for goodness sake, Bill, don’t eat all the cupcakes.” Bill’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine alarm in their depths. “The cupcakes are off-limits, Molly. This is a professional operation. Purely business. Although… those sprinkle ones *do* look rather enticing.” He traced a finger along the cupcake image on the invitation, a predatory gleam in his eye for a moment, before he snapped back to attention. “Right. Business.” Molly sighed again, reaching for her lock-picking kit. This was going to be a long day. She just hoped someone brought a decent bottle of wine to celebrate. Or commiserate. Whichever applied.