“So, a children’s party,” Molly said, swirling her lukewarm coffee. “Are you sure about this, Bill?” Bill, a man whose fashion sense peaked in 1982, adjusted his spectacles. “Absolutely. Think about it, Mol. Fluffy bunnies, glitter, the complete lack of adult supervision for extended periods while parents are distracted by… well, adult things.” “Like mini quiches and judging each other’s kids’ outfits?” “Precisely! It’s genius. Low risk, high reward. All those shiny new toys, unclaimed.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “Unclaimed? They’re specifically *claimed* by a small person whose name is scrawled on the wrapping paper, usually in a crayon-induced frenzy.” “Details, details. The principle remains. We get in, we get out, we’re practically Santa. Except we’re taking, not giving.” “A reverse Santa. Not quite as catchy, is it?” “We can work on the branding later. Focus on the logistics. The target is little Timmy Henderson’s fifth birthday. His parents are loaded. Probably got one of those bouncy castles and an actual petting zoo.” “A petting zoo? Bill, are you suggesting we incapacitate a Shetland pony?” “No, Mol! The pony is a distraction. A living, breathing, hay-munching distraction. While all the rugrats are oohing and aahing over the mini-horse, we move in.” “Move in where, exactly? Their living room, packed with twenty screaming five-year-olds high on cake and juice boxes?” “The garage. That’s always where the good stuff is stowed before the grand reveal. Picture it: a mountain of LEGOs, a brigade of remote control cars, perhaps even a new-fangled drone!” Bill’s eyes gleamed with avarice. Molly sighed. “And how do we ‘move in’ without being spotted by a hyperactive child whose sole purpose in life at that moment is to tattle on every minor infraction?” “Ah, that’s where my ingenuity shines. Disguises, Mol. Think vibrant colors, whimsical patterns. We blend right in.” “You want us to dress up as clowns, Bill? I refuse to wear oversized shoes. My ankles can’t handle it.” “Not clowns. Too cliché. No, no. Think… party entertainers. Perhaps a magician and his lovely assistant.” “You’re the type of magician who makes presents disappear, aren’t you?” “Only temporarily, Mol. Temporarily. We return them… to our highly secure, undisclosed location, of course.” “So, you propose we waltz into a kid’s party, pretend to be entertainers, and empty their garage of all the birthday loot while wrangling a Shetland pony and dodging sticky-fingered toddlers? And you think this is ‘low risk’?” Molly took a long gulp of her coffee. “It’s a masterpiece of subtle deception, Mol. The parents will be too busy sipping prosecco and pretending to enjoy the bouncy castle to even notice. And the kids? Pfft. Sugar-fueled maniacs. Easily distracted.” “By what, Bill? Our sudden appearance in their garage, hauling off sacks of presents?” “By the magic! Imagine, Mol. I make a rabbit appear, you make a present disappear. It’s performance art! We’ll be legendary.” Molly rubbed her temples. “Legendary, or arrested for grand theft children’s toys.” “Details, Mol. Details. So, you’re in?” Bill’s grin was infectious, despite the questionable nature of the plan. Molly stared at him, then at her coffee. “Fine. But if I have to wear a glittery top hat, I’m getting hazard pay.” “Consider it done! Now, about that rabbit…”