The backroom of *The Tipsy Unicorn* smelled like stale beer and regret, which was fitting since that’s exactly what Molly was feeling as she stared at the blueprints of *Bouncy Castle Paradise*, the most secure children’s party venue in the tri-county area. Bill leaned back in his chair, balancing a half-eaten meat pie on his knee like it was a priceless artifact. “Alright, genius,” he said, mouth full. “Walk me through this *foolproof* plan of yours.” Molly didn’t look up from the blueprints. “First, we pose as clowns.” Bill choked on his pie. “Clowns? You want us to *volunteer* to be the scariest thing at a kid’s party?” “Exactly. No one questions clowns. We waddle in, hand out a few balloons, and—” “And what, Molly? Hand out *balloons*? That’s your grand heist strategy?” She finally looked at him, deadpan. “No, Bill. The balloons are *distractions*. While the kids are screaming and the parents are filming their little darlings having a meltdown, we slip into the back room where they keep the *good* presents. The ones that aren’t made of cardboard and glitter.” Bill wiped pie grease off his chin with the back of his hand. “And how do we get past *Security Steve*? That guy’s got a neck like a fire hydrant and a glare that could curdle milk.” Molly grinned. “Easy. We bribe him with a lifetime supply of those tiny hot dogs they serve at the snack table.” Bill blinked. “You think *Security Steve* can be bought with *mini hot dogs*?” “Bill, have you *met* Security Steve? The man once traded his own shoes for a bag of gummy worms. He’s got the self-control of a sugar-addicted golden retriever.” Bill rubbed his temples. “Fine. Say we get past Steve. Say we even *find* the presents. How do we get them out without looking like we’re stealing a mountain of *My Little Pony* merch?” Molly pulled a crumpled flyer from her pocket and slapped it on the table. “*The Grand Prize Giveaway*. Every kid gets to pick one ‘mystery present’ from the *Mystery Box*. We just… *adjust* the contents of the box.” Bill squinted at the flyer. “You want to *replace* the presents with *what*, exactly?” “Does it matter? It’s a kids’ party. We stuff the box with a bunch of those whoopee cushions you ‘accidentally’ bought last Christmas, and by the time anyone notices, we’re long gone.” Bill groaned. “Molly, those whoopee cushions were *evidence*. From the *bank job*. The one that went wrong because you *sneezed*.” “Details.” She waved a hand. “The point is, we walk in as clowns, we walk out as *very* wealthy clowns. Simple.” Bill stared at her for a long moment. Then he sighed, defeated. “You realize this is the dumbest plan we’ve ever attempted, right?” Molly beamed. “That’s why it’ll work. No one expects clowns to be *criminal masterminds*.” Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate my life.” Molly clapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up! If this goes well, we’ll be rich enough to *retire*. We can buy a nice little house by the beach. Maybe get a dog.” Bill perked up slightly. “A dog?” “Sure. A *big* dog. One that can *guard* our ill-gotten gains.” Bill nodded slowly. “Alright. But if I have to wear a clown nose, I’m billing you for therapy.” Molly grabbed the blueprints and rolled them up. “Deal. Now let’s go steal some *kids’ toys* like the classy criminals we are.”