“Right, the target,” Molly said, tapping a glitter-soaked flyer with a perfectly manicured nail. “Princess Penelope’s Spectacular Sparkle Soiree. Ages four to six.” Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. “A children’s party? Molly, you’re not serious. We’re talking about actual, literal four-year-olds.” “Precisely, Bill. Their security is… charmingly naive. Plus, think of the presents! Imagine the haul. Miniature ponies, remote control dinosaurs, probably a few solid gold pacifiers if I know Duchess Beatrice.” “Solid gold pacifiers are not a thing, Molly.” “Details, details. The point is, the loot will be plentiful and, more importantly, unregulated. No serial numbers, no sophisticated tracking, just pure, unadulterated plunder.” “Unadulterated plunder? We’re stealing from toddlers, Molly. My conscience is already forming a tiny, glittery tear.” “Your conscience will be fine. We're providing an… alternative present collection service. Think of the ecological footprint! Less wasted wrapping paper, more communal toy sharing.” Bill eyed the flyer again. “It says ‘pony rides.’ Are we going to have to outsmart a pony?” “A very small, probably very docile pony, yes. But that’s stage two. Stage one: infiltration. The invitation clearly states ‘no adults without a child.’ Therefore, we need a child.” “We are not kidnapping a child, Molly!” “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re… borrowing a child. For a very short, very exciting adventure. I was thinking little Timmy from next door. He’s always asking about ‘adventures.’ This is an adventure!” “Timmy can barely tie his shoes, Molly. He’s more likely to blow our cover by asking for juice and a nap.” “He’s a good distraction. Picture it, Bill. You, pushing Timmy on a miniature swing set, while I, disguised as a particularly enthusiastic party clown, scope out the present table.” Bill paled. “A clown? Molly, I have a deep-seated fear of clowns. They always look like they’re planning something devious.” “We *are* planning something devious, Bill. Embrace the irony. I’ll be a friendly clown. One who offers… special balloon animals in exchange for access to the forbidden present fortress.” “Balloon animals? You can barely make a decent balloon sword.” “I’ve been practicing! Besides, the real genius is in the getaway. The bouncy castle. Instant chaos. We launch the presents over the fence, and then us, right after them. Nobody expects a professional heist team to make their escape via inflatable recreation equipment.” “I’m going to be sore. And I’m still worried about the pony. What if it’s a particularly judgmental pony?” “Bill, relax. It’s a children’s party. The biggest threat we face is probably a sugar rush-induced tantrum. And we’ve handled worse than that. Remember the angry squirrel during the Nutcracker Museum job?” “That squirrel had a surprisingly strong grip, Molly. And a very aggressive disposition.” “Exactly! This is child’s play, literally. Now, about Timmy’s favorite snack… I think it’s those little fish crackers. We’ll need a distracting supply.” Bill sighed, a long, defeated sound. He pulled out a worn notebook. “Okay. Fish crackers. One clown suit. And I’m going to need a very strong espresso for after this.” Molly grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Don't worry, Bill. We’ll be swimming in enough miniature chocolate bars to fuel a small army. Or at least, a very successful getaway driver.”