“Right, presents,” Molly said, rubbing her hands together. “All of them. The sparkly ones, the ones with the awful wrapping, the ones clearly hiding a toy that’ll make terrible noises for parents for weeks.” “Even the ones with glitter?” Bill grimaced, already mentally preparing for the inevitable. The last glitter incident had required a full hazmat suit and a week of therapy. “Especially the ones with glitter, Bill. We’re not leaving anything behind for these miniature tyrants. They’ve had their time.” “They’re children, Molly. It’s a birthday party.” “Exactly! A prime target. Low security, high reward. A veritable buffet of loot. Besides, you know how much I hate children’s parties. All that forced merriment, the sickly sweet cake, the endless renditions of ‘Happy Birthday’ that always seem to drag on for seven decades.” “Fair point. But what’s our angle? We can’t just waltz in there with a sack saying ‘presents’ on it.” “Oh, we can, but it’s rather uninspired. No, this calls for finesse. We’ll be the entertainment.” Bill blinked. “The clowns again? Last time you accidentally set a bouncy castle on fire.” “It was a controlled burn! And besides, I’ve perfected my balloon animal technique. I can make a surprisingly realistic inflatable pineapple.” “The target is presents, Molly, not tropical fruit.” “Details, Bill, details. The pineapple is merely a diversion. An inflatable Trojan horse, if you will, into the heart of the present empire.”