The alleyway smelled of wet cardboard and unwashed children, a scent that usually made Molly’s stomach churn unless there was a new PlayStation or a solid gold watch inside involved. She stood with her back to the brickwork, shielding her eyes from the sodium streetlamps that hummed with a headache-inducing buzz. The house across the alley was drowning in decorations: enough streamers to clothe a clown, a banner that spelled "KELLY'S BIG NIGHT," and a piñata shaped like a mummy that swung lazily in the breeze, threatening to hit a pedestrian at any moment. "That’s the objective?" Bill asked, his voice muffled behind his massive aviator sunglasses. He looked like a raccoon caught in a Dumpster, wearing a raincoat that zipped up the wrong way. "That’s the battlefield," Molly corrected, peering through a cheap pair of binoculars. "And the loot is inside. Look at that wall of wrapped boxes in the dining room. It’s a logistical nightmare, but it’s also a monetary opportunity." Bill adjusted his glasses, peering at the house through a fogged-up lens. "I see parents. Three of them. One looks like she’s passed out in a lawn chair, a waffle cone in one hand and her shoe in the other. The other two are wrestling with a magician who appears to be made of scarves. We’ve got a window of about two hours before the sugar crash turns the living room into a war zone." "Two hours is plenty of time to secure the merchandise." "Okay, Miss Noir. What’s the entry point?" "The garage door. It was open when we passed by earlier. I picked the lock with a paperclip; it’s too easy, it’s almost insulting." Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. "You’re the boss. Just... don't touch the cake." "The cake is safe. It's in a kitchen that is currently occupied by an intoxicated magician." "Not if you jostle the pile," Bill warned, digging into his satchel. "The poop emoji frosting is bulletproof. We don't mess with the poop cake. It’s an ancient law." "Fine. We leave the cake. We grab the electronics. We steal a stack of cards for gas money. That’s the transaction." Molly grabbed the door handle of the battered sedan they were parked behind. "Okay, listen up. Rule number one: We are ghosts. Rule number two: If we hear a dog bark, we pretend we are part of the piñata party." "What if the dog barks and then we shoot a glance at each other?" "We die, Bill. We die quickly." Molly pushed the car door open with a screech of hinges. "Moving out."