Molly adjusted her ski mask in the rearview mirror, frowning at the neon bouncy castle visible three blocks down. The suburban street reeked of desperation and burnt hot dogs. Bill spread a crumpled party invitation across the steering wheel, tapping the gift table circled in red Sharpie. His finger left a grease stain on the glittery princess stationery. He pulled out two matching clown noses from his trench coat, the rubber smelling faintly of gin and abandoned dream balloons. Molly stared at the red spheres, her expression suggesting she'd rather face federal prison than wear primary colors. He grinned widely, securing his nose with a honk that echoed terribly in the confined space. "You're telling me the loot is inside a sugar-fueled death trap populated by thirty screaming under-fives and their wine-aunt chaperones?" "It's perfect. Parents too distracted checking Pinterest crafts, kids too hopped up on juice boxes to notice professional extraction protocols." "Extraction protocols? It's an Elsa-themed fifth birthday, not Fort Knox." "Exactly. Nobody expects grand larceny when 'Let It Go' is playing at deafening volumes." "We look like candy thieves." "We ARE candy thieves. And also possibly a PlayStation 5." "Ready to ruin some childhoods?" "Only if we grab that ice cream cake on the way out. Extra sprinkles, obviously."