The air in the cramped workshop hummed with the scent of stale coffee and desperation. Molly, all sharp angles and nervous energy, tapped a pencil against a crudely drawn floor plan. Bill, built like a well-loved armchair and equally as comfortable, was meticulously polishing a banana. “So, the target,” Molly began, her voice a low rasp, “is Theodore ‘Teddy’ Montgomery’s seventh birthday party. Tomorrow. Starts at two. Parents are those… *lawn gnome enthusiast* types. Think floral shirts and questionable sock choices.” Bill grunted, continuing his banana buffing. “Seven years old. Still susceptible to magic. Good. Easier to distract.” “Distract? Bill, we’re not pulling a pigeon trick. We’re infiltrating a fortress of precocious consumerism. The prize, my friend, is situated squarely in the master bedroom. A veritable Everest of wrapping paper.” Molly gestured emphatically with her pencil, nearly spearing the floor plan. “And the security?” Bill asked, his voice a warm rumble. “Tepid. The father, Reginald, has a mild allergy to glitter and a profound distrust of overly enthusiastic mascots. The mother, Penelope, is currently obsessed with artisanal sourdough. Her focus will be elsewhere, I’m sure of it. Their bulldog, Bartholomew, however… he’s a wildcard. Likes squeaky toys, apparently.” Bill paused, holding the banana aloft. “A squeaky toy. You think I can bribe a bulldog with a squeaky toy?” “Bill, you could charm a badger out of its burrow with a well-placed… interpretive dance. This is child’s play. Literally.” He considered this, a slow smile spreading across his face. “What’s the ingress?” “The back garden. The gate’s unlocked. Reginald’s ‘award-winning dahlias’ are the perfect camouflage. We slip in, bypass Bartholomew with a strategically deployed squeaky hedgehog I’ve procured. Then, the treasure trove.” Molly pointed to a hastily drawn ‘X’ on the floor plan. “The bedroom. We have precisely forty-five minutes before the cake ceremony. Which, based on the online invitation, will involve a juggling clown and… a live rabbit.” Bill winced. “A live rabbit. That’s… ambitious.” “Precisely. Creates chaos. Creates opportunity. We get in, snag the haul, and out before Bartholomew develops a taste for velvet. The getaway vehicle is my souped-up mobility scooter. Discreet, yet surprisingly zippy.” Bill chuckled, a sound like pebbles rolling in a tin. “A seven-year-old’s birthday party. For presents. This is a new low, Molly.” “Think of it as… social redistribution. Little Teddy gets a lifetime supply of Lego. We get rent money. Everyone wins. Except the juggling clown, probably. And the rabbit.” Bill finally set down the banana. “Alright. What’s the contingency for if Bartholomew *doesn’t* appreciate my hedgehog diplomacy?” Molly’s grin was a flash of predatory brilliance. “That’s where the *sparkly* element comes in. Reginald’s nemesis. Not the gnome people. The mayor’s nephew. Apparently, he’s notorious for setting off illegal fireworks at public events. A strategically placed, very loud, very *shiny* firework should create ample diversion. And possibly a minor panic. But mostly diversion.” Bill nodded, his eyes twinkling. "You know, for someone who can barely operate a toaster, you’re remarkably adept at causing mayhem." "It's a gift, Bill. A very lucrative gift."