Molly tapped the blueprint, which was actually a crudely drawn map on a napkin from a fast-food restaurant. "Okay, Bill, focus. The primary objective is in the living room. All gifts, zero noise." Bill squinted at the napkin. "What's this big blue blob here? A lake?" "That's a bouncy castle, you cretin! And this little stick figure with the crown is the birthday boy, Timmy. We avoid him at all costs. He's got a death grip on a sugar rush and a plastic sword." "Right, Timmy. Got it. What's our approach?" "Distraction and diversion," Molly said, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at a window. "You're the diversion. You will approach the back garden and perform… the dance." Bill’s face fell. "Molly, we talked about this. I did the dance in Prague and it resulted in a very public shaming and a lifelong ban from the city." "This is different, Bill. It's a six-year-old's birthday party, not the Bolshoi Ballet. Just wiggle a bit, maybe spin around. They'll think you're an adult who's lost his mind. Kids love that." "While you sneak in and nab the presents?" "Precisely. I'll be in and out in ninety seconds. The real challenge is the parents." "What about them? They're probably just standing around drinking lukewarm coffee." "No, Bill. They're hopped up on passive-aggressive competition and cheap chardonnay. They're more dangerous than a sleeping Doberman. One of them, a Brenda, apparently makes a seven-layer dip that is legendary. She will be guarding it, and the presents are right next to the snack table." "So, we avoid Brenda and the dip?" "We use the dip. I've formulated a small, non-lethal smoke bomb. It's odorless, tasteless, and will cause a ten-second moment of confusion. I'll trigger it, grab the haul, and we meet back at the van." "Which van? The one that says 'Bill's Exotic Worms' or the one that says 'Molly's Potent Potables'? I feel like we're drawing attention to ourselves." "It's called branding, Bill. Now, the final hurdle. The gift bags. The small ones. They contain the party favors. We take them all." "Why? It's just plastic junk and a whistle." "Because, Bill," Molly sighed, exasperated. "When we fence the presents, we'll tell the buyer they're all missing the original accessories. The party favors are the accessories. It's an upsell. Now, are you ready to do the dance for the children?" Bill looked towards the house, the faint sounds of screaming and off-key music drifting towards them. He squared his shoulders. "For the seven-layer dip. I'll do it for the dip."