The backroom of *The Rusty Nail* smelled like stale beer and regret, which, Molly figured, was just the right ambiance for planning a heist. She leaned back in her chair, boots propped on the wobbly table, and tossed a stress ball shaped like a rubber chicken at Bill’s head. It bounced off his forehead with a satisfying *thwack*. “Ow. What was that for?” Bill rubbed the spot, scowling. “For looking like you’re about to rob a bank instead of a five-year-old’s birthday party,” Molly said. “You’ve got the ‘I’m about to commit a felony’ face on. Tone it down. We’re going for ‘harmless party guests,’ not ‘wanted in three states.’” Bill adjusted his tie—bright blue with little yellow ducks on it, which Molly had forced him to wear. “I *am* toning it down. This is me *toned.*” “You look like a man who’s one wrong glance away from pulling a switchblade out of his sock.” “That’s just my *resting heist face.*” He sighed, flipping open a folder labeled *OPERATION: SUGAR RUSH* in glitter gel pen. “Alright, walk me through it again. Because last time you said we were hitting a jewelry store, and then we ended up at a *bake sale.*” Molly gasped, offended. “That bake sale had a *cash box.* And also, those snickerdoodles were *elite.* But focus. The target is *Chloe’s Magical Unicorn Extravaganza,* hosted by the infamous *Mrs. Henderson*—” “—who is *not* a retired spy, no matter how many times you say it,” Bill interrupted. “—who *definitely* has a panic room full of stolen art,” Molly finished, ignoring him. “But more importantly, her kid’s party is *loaded.* We’re talking iPads, LEGO sets that cost more than my rent, and—get this—a *limited-edition My Little Pony that goes for three hundred bucks on eBay.*” Bill blinked. “We’re risking prison for a *toy horse.*” “A *collector’s item,*” Molly corrected. “And also, the parents at these things are *loaded.* They bring *cash gifts* in *envelopes.* Envelopes, Bill. Like we’re in the *Wild West.*” Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. “So the plan is… what, exactly? Waltz in, grab the presents, and waltz out?” “Basically. But with *flair.*” Molly pulled out a party hat and plopped it on her head. “We pose as *aunt and uncle.* You’re *Uncle Barry,* the fun one who does magic tricks—” “—I don’t *do magic tricks.*” “—you *will* today, or so help me, I will replace all your coffee with decaf for a month.” She pulled a deck of cards from her pocket and fanned them out. “Ta-da. *Abracadabra.*” Bill stared. “That’s just a deck of cards.” “It’s *misdirection,* Bill. While you’re *distracting* the kids with *sleight of hand,* I’ll be *liberating* the gift table.” “And how do you plan to do that without, I don’t know, *getting caught?*” Molly grinned. “Simple. I’ll be the *piñata.*” Bill’s eye twitched. “Come again?” “Think about it. Piñatas are *full of candy,* right? So if I’m *wearing* the piñata—” “You’re going to *wear* the piñata.” “—then when the kids take a swing at me, I’ll *collapse dramatically,* and in the chaos, I’ll *grab the loot* and we’ll *bolt.*” Bill opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “That’s the *dumbest* plan you’ve ever had.” Molly gasped, clutching her chest. “Excuse you, it’s *brilliant.* It’s *theatrical.* It’s *memorable.*” “It’s *suicide.*” “Only if you *miss* when you swing the bat at me.” Bill groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t believe I’m about to help you *get beaten up by kindergarteners.*” Molly clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go over the *exit strategy.*”