The backseat of Bill’s stolen ice cream truck smelled like expired sprinkles and regret. Molly adjusted her glittery party hat—stolen from a yard sale—and squinted at the blueprint of *Chuckie Cheerful’s Mega-Birthday Extravaganza*. “You’re sure this place has *good* loot?” Bill asked, wiping chocolate syrup off his sleeve. “Last time we hit a kid’s party, all we got was a My Little Pony and a half-eaten cupcake.” Molly tapped the blueprint. “This isn’t some back-alley piñata smash-and-grab. This is *high-end* toddler wealth. We’re talking iPads, unopened LEGO sets, and—get this—a *limited-edition* Baby Yoda action figure.” Bill’s eyes widened. “The one with the *glow-in-the-dark* lightsaber?” “Bingo. And the security? A single rent-a-cop named *Gary* who’s probably napping in the balloon animal station.” Bill scratched his chin. “What’s the play? We waltz in, grab the goodies, and bolt?” Molly grinned. “Better. We *blend in*. I’ve got a fake mustache, a fanny pack full of juice boxes, and a *very* convincing ‘Auntie Molly’ backstory. You’re my *emotionally unstable* uncle who ‘just loves kids.’” Bill groaned. “I *hate* kids.” “Exactly. You’ll be *too* convincing.” She tossed him a clown nose. “Put this on. And try not to scare any of them into therapy.” Bill sighed, shoving the nose onto his face. “If I get finger-painted on, I’m billing you.” Molly revved the engine. “Deal. Now let’s go rob some *innocence*.”