“Right, Bill,” Molly whispered, her voice a raspy snake charm. “The target.” Bill squinted, his brow furrowed like a miniature, disgruntled mountain range. “You say it’s a *children’s party*? Molly, are you sure about this intel?” “Positive. Little Timmy’s turning five. Big bash. Parents will be distracted by cake and existential childhood dread. The presents will be piled high. It’s a goldmine, Bill. A glitter bomb of opportunity.” “But… it’s a *kid’s party*. What if there are… puppies? Or clowns? I’m not great with clowns.” Bill shivered, his left eye twitching with a nervous energy that threatened to break into a full-blown jig. Molly rolled her eyes, the gesture so practiced it might have been a trained ballet move. “No clowns, Bill. Just a bouncy castle and enough sugar to fuel a small nation. And puppies are notoriously difficult to steal and even harder to fence. We stick to the objective. Presents. Boxes. Ribbons.” “Boxes I can handle. Ribbons… a bit fiddly, but I suppose. So, the plan?” Bill leaned in, his breath smelling faintly of stale biscuits and desperation. “It’s elegant, Bill. The most elegant plan we’ve ever hatched. We go in disguised as… esteemed guests. You’ll be… Uncle Barry. Big, jovial, slightly clueless, and always wanting to ‘borrow’ a piece of cake. I’ll be Aunt Carol, the one with the unnerving stare who always asks personal questions.” Bill’s eyes widened. “Uncle Barry? That’s… inspired. I can do ‘clueless’. I’ve had years of practice.” “Exactly. You’ll create a diversion while I… liberate the loot. Think of it as… strategic tidying. Removing items that have clearly outgrown their current owner’s appreciation. Like that over-engineered train set, or that tablet that’ll give Timmy a permanent squint.” “So, as Uncle Barry, I… what, pretend to choke on a canapé?” “Close. You’ll loudly lament the lack of proper cheese selection. Make a fuss. Demand a cheese board. The louder, the better. While everyone’s looking at you, wondering if you’re going to spontaneously combust from curd-induced rage, I’ll be in the gift area. Swift. Silent. Like a ninja in a sensible cardigan.” Bill rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A ninja in a sensible cardigan. I like it. What about the parents? They’ll be watching, won’t they?” “Briefly. But you, Uncle Barry, will be a force of nature. Nobody questions a man on a quest for Gouda. And Aunt Carol… well, Aunt Carol has a way of making people uncomfortable enough that they avoid eye contact. It’s a gift.” “A gift for mild social terrorism,” Bill muttered. “Precisely. Now, the getaway vehicle is important. We can’t be seen with a bulging sack of Barbie dolls. So, we’ll use… a picnic basket. A large, very ordinary picnic basket. Filled with… napkins.” Bill blinked. “Napkins? The presents will never fit.” “Ah, Bill,” Molly said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “That’s where the second part of the plan comes in. You see, the real treasures aren’t always in the largest boxes. Sometimes, they’re the ones that fit perfectly into a small, discreet pocket. And for the bigger items… well, a strategically placed diversion often involves a sudden ‘spill’.” Bill’s jaw dropped. “You mean…?” “Exactly, Bill. Now, about those napkins. We’ll need at least fifty. And make sure they’re the expensive, disposable kind. Nobody wants to be caught with laundry.”