The backroom of *The Tipsy Unicorn* smelled like stale beer and regret, which, Molly figured, was just the right ambiance for planning a heist. She leaned back in her chair, kicking her boots up onto the wobbly table where a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a crumpled map of *Party Palace Extravaganza* were the only witnesses to their criminal genius. Bill, meanwhile, was hunched over the map like a vulture eyeing a particularly plump roadkill. He tapped a grease-stained finger against a big, glittery blob labeled *PIRATE TREASURE ROOM (AGES 5-8)*. "Alright, Mol," he said, not looking up. "We go in through the balloon arch. It’s flimsy, barely held up by a guy named Dave who’s three beers deep by 2 PM. We slip in, grab the loot, and slip out before the piñata gets smashed. Simple." Molly took a slow sip of whiskey, wincing as it burned its way down. "Simple? Bill, we’re talking about a room full of five-year-olds who’ve been mainlining sugar and birthday cake for an hour. You ever seen a kid on a sugar high? They’re like tiny, hyperactive gremlins with the reflexes of a caffeinated squirrel. One wrong move, and we’re not just stealing presents—we’re playing a real-life game of *Red Light, Green Light* with the law." Bill waved a hand. "Pfft. Kids love us. We’ve got *charisma*." "You once got a participation trophy for ‘Most Likely to Trip Over His Own Feet’ in elementary school." "That was *one time*!" Molly sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine. Let’s say we make it past the gremlin horde. What’s the play for the presents? You just gonna waltz up to the gift table and start shoveling My Little Pony action figures into a duffel bag?" Bill grinned, pulling a crumpled flyer from his pocket. "Nope. We’re *professionals*. See this?" He smoothed out the flyer—*GRAND PRIZE DRAWING: WIN A $500 AMAZON GIFT CARD!* "We enter the drawing. While the birthday girl is busy opening her *My First Diamond-Studded Unicorn Horn*, we ‘accidentally’ knock over the gift table. Chaos ensues. In the confusion, we grab the good stuff and bolt." Molly stared at him. "You want to cause a *distraction* by spilling presents *we’re trying to steal*?" "Exactly! It’s like misdirection. Classic magic trick. You ever see a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat? No, because the rabbit’s too busy *eating the hat* while everyone’s looking at the wrong hand." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Bill, I swear to god, if we get caught because you turned a heist into a *clown car of bad decisions*, I’m throwing you under the bus so hard you’ll wish you’d stayed in juvie." Bill gasped, clutching his chest. "Juvie? Mol, that’s *harsh*. I was *framed* for that fireworks incident." "You *lit the principal’s car on fire*." "It was *accidental*! The sparklers had a mind of their own!" Molly groaned, downing the rest of her whiskey. "Alright, fine. We’ll do it your way. But if we get caught, I’m telling the cops you made me do it." Bill beamed. "That’s the spirit! Now, about the getaway—" "No." "—I was thinking we steal the birthday cake truck." Molly stood up so fast her chair clattered to the floor. "We are *not* stealing a *cake truck*." Bill held up his hands. "Hear me out! It’s got *wheels*, it’s *distracting*, and if we get pulled over, we just say we’re delivering a *very late* birthday cake." Molly grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair. "I’m getting a new partner." Bill followed her to the door. "You love me." "I *tolerate* you. Like a rash." Bill grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "That’s the Molly I know. Now, let’s go case the joint. And Mol?" "Yeah?" "Try not to trip over any kids." Molly shoved him toward the door. "I hate you." Bill laughed as they stepped out into the neon-lit alley. "No, you don’t."