“So, a children’s party,” Molly said, leaning back in her chair, a half-eaten doughnut held aloft. “Your finest work, Bill.” “It’s effective, Molly,” Bill said, tapping a pen against a crumpled napkin covered in crayon drawings. "Minimal security. Highly motivated targets if we trip an alarm. And the presents are just, well, sitting there.” “You say ‘minimal security’ like it’s a selling point,” Molly countered, taking a bite of her doughnut. “Because it means we’re going to be up against an inflatable bouncy castle and a disgruntled clown.” “The clown,” Bill mused, looking at his notes. “Clownfish Cody. Reputedly quite flexible. Possibly a red herring.” “A red herring, Bill? In a children’s party heist?” Molly snorted. “Are we planning to steal the prime minister’s cat or a Power Ranger action figure?” “The Power Ranger action figure might be a limited edition,” Bill said, adjusting his glasses. “And the prime minister’s cat could be, shall we say, a useful distraction for the *actual* cat burglar, if you catch my drift.” “I catch your drift, Bill, and it smells like stale cake and desperation,” Molly sighed. “Alright, what’s the layout? Is it a house? A hall? A repurposed cryogenic lab for sentient teddy bears?” “It’s the Millicent estate,” Bill informed her, unfolding a surprisingly detailed floor plan that included a drawing of a smiling sun. “The Millicent twins’ fifth birthday. They’re notorious for their gift haul. Last year, they got a pony.” “A pony? For a five-year-old?” Molly’s eyes widened. “Okay, now you’ve got my attention. Are we talking a miniature pony or a full-sized, horse-racing capable beast?” “Details are sketchy on the pony, Molly, focus please,” Bill urged. “The presents will be in the conservatory. Glass roof, high windows, overlooking the rose garden. Sounds idyllic, doesn't it?” “Idyllic usually means a clear line of sight for anyone with a telescope and a bad disposition,” Molly grumbled. “Entry points?” “The cellar door, leads to the kitchen pantry. Or the kitchen window, but that’s got a lovely display of cupcakes that might distract you.” “Cupcakes are a temporary distraction, Bill. Five-year-old ponies are a lifetime commitment,” Molly insisted. “So, cellar door, then. What’s the catch?” “Motion sensors in the hallway leading to the conservatory. And a particularly yappy Chihuahua named Princess Fluffington.” “Yappy Chihuahua, motion sensors. This is practically Fort Knox with sprinkles,” Molly declared. “What about the exit strategy? We can’t exactly waltz out with a sack full of loot and a stolen pony.” “We scale the back wall, drop down onto a waiting van. It’s tight, but doable,” Bill explained, tracing a line on his map. “Unless of course, we encounter a sentient teddy bear that’s been cryogenically frozen.” “Don’t joke, Bill, you know how I feel about sentient teddy bears,” Molly shuddered. “Alright, so I go for the cellar door, disarm the motion sensors – assuming they’re not military-grade laser grids – charm Princess Fluffington, probably with a strategically placed dog treat, and then you’re in the conservatory grabbing the goods. Right?” “Precisely. And try not to make eye contact with Clownfish Cody. He tends to overshare about his childhood.” “Duly noted. Just remember, Bill. If I end up in a clown car with a furious Chihuahua and a stolen pony, you’re buying the celebratory pizza.” “Deal,” Bill said, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips. “And I’ll even let you pick the topping, as long as it’s not anchovies.” “We’ll see,” Molly said, finishing her doughnut. “We’ll see. Now, about that pony…”