“Alright, break it down for me, Bill. We’re still on for the ‘Princess Penelope’s Pink Palace of Presents’ job, yes?” Molly leaned over the crumpled napkin that resembled a treasure map drawn by a particularly enthusiastic toddler. Bill, a man whose grey hair was only matched by the impressive collection of lint on his sweater, squinted at the napkin. “Affirmative, Molly. Operation ‘Sparkle-Steal’ is a go. Target: five-year-old Penelope Grimshaw’s birthday bash. Location: Mrs. Henderson’s Fancy Function Hall. Time: tomorrow afternoon, during the bouncy castle spectacular.” “Excellent,” Molly twirled a pen between her fingers. “Now, the presents. We’re talking about a demographic that prioritizes glitter over actual value. But volume, Bill, volume is our friend here. What are we looking at for a haul?” “Intelligence suggests a minimum of thirty gift-wrapped items. Plushies, a disturbing number of limited-edition unicorn dolls, some kind of make-your-own-slime kit—the usual suspects. All potential candidates for the ‘Used But Adorable’ section of eBay.” “And the security? Beyond the sugar-crazed preschoolers with sticky fingers, I mean.” Bill tapped a greasy finger against a crudely drawn stick figure labeled “Mrs. Henderson.” “Mrs. Henderson herself. A formidable woman. Former kindergarten teacher, apparently. Knows how to wrangle a chaotic crowd. The presents will be in a designated ‘Gift Gallery’ near the cake table, under the watchful eye of a slightly deflated balloon arch and, presumably, Mrs. Henderson’s side-eye radar.” Molly snorted. “A cake table. This is getting more elaborate than the time we tried to swipe the mayor’s prize-winning zucchini.” “And less likely to involve actual security cameras,” Bill countered. “Our biggest obstacle, besides accidental exposure to ‘Baby Shark,’ will be blend-in potential. We need to be inconspicuous. Ghosts in the pastel machine.” “I’ve already sourced our disguises. Two very convincing pirate costumes. Complete with eye patches and plastic cutlasses.” Bill’s eyebrows rose so high they threatened to disappear into his sparse hairline. “Pirates? Molly, it’s a princess party. Don’t you think that might be… conspicuous?” “Nonsense, Bill. Every princess party needs a swashbuckling element. We’re adding atmosphere. Plus, the cutlasses provide excellent leverage for opening particularly stubborn gift bags. Think of them as multi-purpose tools.” “Right. And your master plan for getting the gifts out? The Grimshaws undoubtedly have parents attending. Parents with eyes. And the very strong possibility of a minivan in the parking lot.” “That, my dear Bill, is where the ‘Giant Rainbow Piñata’ comes in. I’ve already contacted the caterers. A custom order. Extra-large. Filled with… well, not candy. But it will be strategically placed, naturally. And our exit vehicle for the getaway will be less a minivan, and more a slightly over-decorated ice cream truck. Maximum plausible deniability.” Bill stared at the napkin. “An ice cream truck. Full of… glitter-filled plushies. And us, dressed as pirates. Molly, sometimes I worry about your sanity.” “It’s a comedic heist, Bill. What do you expect? We’re not stealing the Mona Lisa. We’re liberating a collection of plastic trinkets from a five-year-old’s imminent sugar crash. It should be fun.” “Fun. Right. Just promise me we won’t have to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ Molly. My vocal cords can’t take it.” “No promises on that front, partner. Now, let’s go over the escape route. The kitchen entrance looks promising for a quick… ‘delivery.’”