The aroma of sugar and desperation hung thick in the air. Molly, a woman whose criminal record read like a particularly messy nursery rhyme book, peered through the slightly grubby window. “Right, Bill, this is it. Operation ‘Santa’s Little Helpers’.” Bill, whose primary skill was looking perpetually confused, grunted. “You sure about this, Mol? Little Timmy looks like he bites.” “Nonsense. He’s just pre-caffeinated. Now, the target is that enormous pile of wrapped joy. The bigger the bow, the bigger the payday. Remember the plan: distraction is key. You go in there, tell them you’ve seen a unicorn outside. Guaranteed chaos.” “A unicorn? Really?” Bill’s eyes widened. “Will it have glitter?” “Probably. Just make it convincing. I’ll be inside the bouncy castle, disguised as a rogue balloon. Once you’ve got them looking skyward, I’ll be making my exit with the goods. Simple, effective, and utterly brilliant.” Molly winked, a glint in her eye that had nothing to do with birthday candles.