The storage unit smelled of stale coffee and unfulfilled potential. Molly paced the length of the concrete floor, her Converse squeaking in a rhythmic, agitated tempo. In the center, Bill was meticulously polishing a lockpick he had hastily fashioned from a paperclip and a bottle of high-proof vodka. "It’s a heist, Bill," Molly said, stopping to slap a satellite phone onto a pile of dirty laundry. "A proper heist. Not some petty bike theft or a bag of loose change from a tip jar. We are here to take the presents." Bill stopped polishing and looked up, his eyes wide behind thick-rimmed glasses. He held up the vodka lockpick like a sacred religious artifact. "The Tom-Tom Trio is notorious for their explosive gift habits," Bill explained, his voice dropping to a whisper as if the Pizza Hut flyers on the wall might hear him. "We’re looking at four thousand dollars in electronics alone. Possibly a mint-condition Lego Millennium Falcon. Maybe even the helium tank for the balloons." Molly groaned, kicking a cardboard box marked 'kitchen sink' into the shadows. "I don’t care about the Lego or the helium tank. I care about the red balloons. If anyone sees those red balloons, they know something is wrong. They scream 'crime of passion,' Bill. It’s amateur hour." "We use a chopper," Bill declared, pointing a greasy finger at the ceiling. "A quiet one. A stealth drone made from a plastic bag and a balloon filled with argon gas. Silent as death." She rolled her eyes so hard she actually hurt. "No flying drones, Bill. The target is three-year-olds. If a plastic bag drops on a toddlers, he doesn't just get scared; he writes a letter to Santa. We need to be silent. Like ghosts. Like ninjas." "Right. Silence," Bill nodded, spinning the lockpick like a baton. "We approach the tent. Establish a perimeter. Then we isolate the gift station before the parents cut the cake." The smell of pepperoni drifted under the storage unit door, delicious and terrible for the stomachs of hardened criminals. Bill wiped a smudge of gravy from his nose and checked the charge on a silenced slingshot. "And what about the security?" Molly asked, suddenly serious, clutching a burlap sack. "The big burly father with the biceps the size of my torso?" "Three cupcakes for the man at the door," Bill offered confidently, tapping the slingshot against his thigh. "And I’ll slip the toddler a tic-tac. Just one. It buys us thirty seconds." Molly stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "You’re going to use a mint to distract a three-year-old?" "I call it 'persuasive negotiation.' It’s brilliant." Bill reached into his trench coat and pulled out a lollipop that looked aggressively artificial. "Are you with me?" She sighed and accepted the lollipop. "We’re going to steal all the presents, Bill. I hope you’re ready to haul them out of here." "Lead the way, partner. To the cake."