“Right, so to recap,” Molly said, ticking off fingers that were already sticky with something that smelled suspiciously like bubblegum, “we’re breaking into a bouncy castle, during a clown show, to steal a pile of glorified wrapping paper, all for a client whose only instruction was ‘make it sparkly.’” “And don’t forget,” Bill added, his voice muffled as he tried to pry open a childproof aspirin bottle with his teeth, “it has to be before little Timmy blows out his candles. Apparently, the ‘sparkly’ quality diminishes significantly once the recipients start unwrapping.” “Diminishes? Bill, these are party favors and assorted plastic tat. The only thing diminishing here is my sanity. Why again are we taking this job?” Bill finally conquered the aspirin bottle, popping two pills into his mouth with a triumphant flick of his wrist. “Because, Molly, a wise woman once told me that ‘a job’s a job, even if it involves a metric ton of glitter and a possible run-in with Mr. Topsy-Turvy the Magic Clown’.” Molly groaned. “That wise woman was me, and I was being sarcastic. Sarcastic, Bill! The last time we took a job this… whimsical, we ended up in a petting zoo covered in llama spit trying to ‘liberate’ a prize-winning pumpkin.” “And we succeeded!” Bill countered, beaming. “That was a very lucrative pumpkin, Molly. Besides, what’s not to love about a children’s party? Think of the possibilities. Sugar high parents, distracted by balloon animals, perfect cover.” “Perfect cover for what? Getting pelted with half-chewed birthday cake? Tripping over a rogue scooter? No, Bill, the risks far outweigh the… wait, who sets up a bouncy castle with a side entrance?” Bill peered at the blueprints, which were actually just a child’s drawing of a house with a giant red X marking what he assumed was the present table. “Apparently, Mrs. Henderson from number 42. Says here she wants to ‘maximize airflow’ during the party. Genius, really. A natural ventilation system, and a convenient ingress point for two highly skilled, albeit slightly overqualified, professional present snatchers.” “Highly skilled? Bill, I once spent an entire afternoon trying to pick a lock on a shed that just needed a good shove. And overqualified? We’re stealing presents from a bunch of five-year-olds!” “Details, details. The point is, the side entrance is our golden ticket. You’ll go in, I’ll create a diversion.” “And what, precisely, will your diversion entail? Because if it involves talking to Mr. Topsy-Turvy, I’m out.” “Relax, it’ll be subtle. A slight disruption, a moment of confusion, then you’re in. I was thinking… a sudden, inexplicable release of a few dozen helium balloons, perhaps with strategically placed confetti bombs.” Molly stared at him, her eyes wide. “Confetti bombs? During a children’s party? Bill, that’s not a diversion, that’s an act of war! We’ll be swarmed by sugared-up toddlers, sticky hands everywhere, a chorus of ‘ooohs’ and ‘aahs’ and then, inevitably, tears. My God, the tears!” “Think of it as… performance art, Molly. A high-octane, glitter-fueled opening act for our grand heist. Plus, the client specifically requested ‘sparkly’. Lots of opportunities for sparkle there.” Molly sighed, running a hand through her already messy hair. “Fine. Confetti bombs. But if I get apprehended by a particularly aggressive unicorn mascot, you’re buying me a very expensive, very adult, cocktail afterwards. With no sprinkles.” “Deal,” Bill said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Now, about this ‘sparkly’ requirement for the presents…”