Molly crouched behind a bush outside the brightly lit community center, clutching a pair of foam dinosaur hands. “You said we were casing a mansion. Not… this.” She gestured at the building where a giant inflatable slide blocked half the view. “That’s a bounce house, Bill. I didn’t sign up for germs and sugar highs.” Bill adjusted his tactical beanie—black, because “tactically required”—and peeked over the shrub. “Security’s laughable. Two parents on juice duty, one guy in a chicken costume, and a piñata that hasn’t moved in ten minutes. That’s either a trap or Dave gave up after round one of musical chairs.” “This is a *children’s party*, Bill! We steal from art galleries, not snack tables with animal crackers.” “Think bigger, Molly. Presents. Dozens of ’em. Under that blue tarp with the dancing unicorns. Kids don’t appreciate value. They get one toy and forget the next day. We’re doing society a favor—redistributing excitement.” “You’re insane. That kid in the cape just body-slammed a balloon animal. I’m not going in there.” “We don’t have to go in. We *become* in.” “I hate when you get poetic.” “Listen—tonight, we’re not thieves. We’re *entertainers*. I checked the schedule. Magician cancels at 6:15. We take his slot. I saw his trailer. Bad wig, one deck that glows, and a rabbit crate with the note: ‘Do not feed after 4 PM.’ We replace him. I do a trick. You grab the presents during the standing ovation.” “You really think a seven-year-old audience gives a standing ovation?” “They did for the chicken. He just clucked and dropped napkins. It was moving.” “This is the dumbest plan since the aquarium heist where you got locked in the penguin exhibit.” “That penguin loved me. He kept bringing me fish. Emotional support animal, really.” “You nearly flooded downtown with stolen koi.” “That was *one* pipe incident. Focus, Molly. We go in as ‘The Amazing Bill and His Slightly Suspicious Assistant.’ You wear the costume. I wave sparkly things. Boom—distraction. You load the loot into the clown wagon.” “There’s a clown *wagon*?” “Foldable. Fits six gift bags and one mildly distressed ferret, so presents are no problem.” “And what if the kids notice? What if they scream?” “Kids scream all the time. That’s background noise. Like a rave with juice boxes. Also, I’ll offer free face painting. Keeps them busy.” “You don’t know how to paint faces.” “I can draw circles and frown. That’s 80% of sad clown faces, right? Look, the clock’s ticking. The cake’s at 6:30. We strike before ‘Pin the Tail’—chaos, confusion, frosting.” “What if a parent recognizes us?” “They won’t. Parents are in survival mode. One’s trying to clean glitter off a wall with a napkin. Another’s whispering into a phone: ‘I don’t care if the dog ate the mortgage, just get me out of here.’” “That’s cold. And accurate.” “So we’re in?” Molly sighed, pulling on a sequined vest Bill produced from his backpack. “If we get caught, I’m blaming the rabbit.” “No problem. He’s a shifty little guy anyway. Ready?” She adjusted the foam T-Rex arms. “Just promise me one thing.” “Anything.” “If that cake’s got a dinosaur on it… we leave it. For the kids.” Bill grinned. “Deal. We’re not monsters.” He checked his watch. “Showtime. And Molly?” “Yeah?” “Try not to steal the piñata. Last time, it ended with sirens and a very angry goat.” “That goat had it coming.”