Molly adjusted her night vision goggles, which made her look like a raccoon that had raided a tactical gear store during a midnight sale. She flattened the stolen blueprints against the dashboard of their dented van, currently parked beneath a flickering streetlamp exactly three blocks from the community center. Bill sat beside her, wearing an ill-fitting sequined cape over his stolen police-issue bulletproof vest while nervously drumming his fingers against a mug that read World's Okayest Dad. The engine ticked as it cooled. The van smelled of stale fries and regret. His fingers left prints on the mug. "You're absolutely certain the bearer bonds are actually shoved inside a teddy bear?" Bill asked, adjusting his Groucho Marx nose and glasses with one trembling hand. "Seems somehow beneath a guy who routinely moves uncut diamonds for brunch money." "Positive," Molly whispered, tapping the crude drawing with a dried-out red Sharpie. "Little Timmy Henderson's father launders liquid assets through cheap plush toys. Classic misdirection theory. Who checks a stuffed rabbit for financial instruments when there's chocolate cake and screaming games?" Bill removed the disguise to reveal his skeptical scowl. Bill sighed heavily. "I didn't spend six months in county jail learning rudimentary lockpicking just to make anatomically incorrect balloon animals for sticky-fingered toddlers with absolutely no impulse control whatsoever." "That's exactly why it's the perfect cover," Molly said, tossing him a rainbow clown wig from the evidence bag at her feet. "You're Stabby the Magnificent. I'm your lovely assistant, Tax-Deduction Tina. The magic show starts at three sharp, extraction happens at three-oh-eight sharp." Bill caught the wig with visible distaste, inspecting it briefly. "What about venue security protocols?" "One sleepy clown named Bubbles and a bounce house." She consulted her pilfered invitation. She glanced at the community center doors. "The parents will be distracted by impending sugar crashes and present opening. We swap the target bear during the chaotic piñata song." "I hate piñatas," Bill muttered, pulling the wig over his receding hairline. "Too unpredictable. Swinging sticks, blindfolded kindergarteners with no depth perception, mass crying. It's a liability nightmare waiting to happen." "Everyone focuses on the flying hard candy and shattered expectations, Bill. That's precisely when we strike." Bill adjusted his cape. "And if the magic tricks fail spectacularly?" "Improvise." Molly handed him a plastic scepter. The sound of party horns drifted through the window. "You're literally here professionally to make presents disappear. Just stick to the plan and don't engage with the parents." "What about my wheat allergy? Last time I sneezed during the vanishing cabinet bit and ruined everything." "Take Benadryl." "Fine. But I'm demanding hazard pay if glitter gets lodged permanently in my corneas. Last time I sparkled for weeks." "Deal. Try not to stab anyone with the prop sword." "That's not funny. Seriously. I shouldn't have to do children's parties." "It's literally your name, Bill. Your clown name. We're stealing forty grand. Stop complaining." Molly shouldered her empty gift bag lined with Faraday fabric, checking the seals one last time with a satisfying rip. They slipped from the van into the afternoon sun, moving past the balloon arch toward the noisy center, fully prepared to ruin multiple childhood memories for modest profit.