Molly’s gaze drifted from the meticulously drawn blueprint of a particularly bouncy castle to Bill, who was meticulously polishing a grappling hook with a flannel cloth. “Are you sure about this, Bill?” “Sure about what, Molly? That we’re going to relieve some privileged rugrats of their ill-gotten gains? Indubitably.” He gave the grappling hook a final buff, the chrome gleaming under the bare bulb of their rented storage unit. “No, I mean… a children’s party? It feels… morally ambiguous.” Molly tapped a finger on the blueprint. “The target is a five-year-old’s birthday. Princess Esmeralda theme.” Bill scoffed. “Morally ambiguous? Molly, we once stole a perfectly good flock of flamingos from a particularly ostentatious garden gnome enthusiast. You think a few plastic ponies and educational building blocks cross a line?” “The flamingos were for a good cause! And besides, they were technically trespassing.” She gestured around the cramped unit. “And we didn’t have to contend with a potential sugar-fueled mob of miniature humans.” Bill chuckled, a low rumble that always made Molly a little nervous. “That’s where the genius of my plan comes in. Distraction. Diversion. Doo-dads.” He pointed to a large, inflatable unicorn lying deflated in a corner. “That, my dear Molly, is our Trojan horse. Or rather, our Trojan unicorn.” Molly eyed the deflated mythical creature. “You’re going to inflate a unicorn amidst a crowd of preschoolers?” “Precisely. While they’re all mesmerized by its shimmering glory, we swoop in. The bouncy castle, as you noted, provides excellent cover for ingress and egress. And the presents, conveniently located under the gazebo, are ripe for the plucking.” Bill grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “It’s brilliant, even if I do say so myself.” “And what if they have a party clown?” Molly asked, recalling a particularly traumatic encounter with a mime during a previous job involving antique Fabergé eggs. Bill’s smile tightened slightly. “Clowns are… a variable. We’ll improvise. But the real challenge isn’t a clown, it’s security. You scouted the location, correct?” “Yes. The parents are apparently very invested in this party. They’ve hired a private security detail. Retired police officers, mostly.” Bill stroked his chin. “Retired coppers are predictable. They’ll be looking for adults. They won’t be looking for… well, for *us* in the guise of enthusiastic party decorators delivering an oversized unicorn.” He winked. “It’s practically foolproof. We get in, grab the loot, and are out before anyone even notices Princess Esmeralda is left with an abundance of gift tags and a complete lack of actual presents.” Molly sighed, but a small smile was beginning to form. “Alright, Bill. Trojan unicorn it is. Just promise me we won’t have to actually sing ‘Happy Birthday.’” “Deal. My singing voice, much like my moral compass, is best kept under wraps.”