# The Party Caper Molly spread the blueprints across the kitchen table, adjusting her reading glasses. Bill sat across from her, munching on a sandwich. "So the party starts at two o'clock," Molly said. "That gives us a narrow window." "How narrow are we talking?" Bill asked, his mouth half-full. "About forty-five minutes before the piñata comes out. That's when everyone's distracted." Bill set down his sandwich. "What about the parents? They're not just going to let us waltz in and grab the presents." "That's where you're wrong," Molly grinned. "I've already signed us up as entertainers. You're a clown, I'm a balloon artist." Bill's face went pale. "Absolutely not. I'm not wearing a red nose and oversized shoes." "You don't have a choice. Besides, you're perfect for it. Red nose, big shoes—you're halfway there already." "That's not funny, Molly." "It's hilarious. Now, the presents are stacked in the corner of the gymnasium. I'll keep the kids busy with balloon animals while you load them into the van." Bill leaned back, scratching his head. "What kind of balloon animals?" "Does it matter?" "I don't know. Can you even make a decent poodle?" Molly shot him a look. "I can make whatever I want. Poodles, giraffes, weapons of mass destruction." "Why would you make weapons out of balloons?" "Because I have range, Bill. Now focus. We need to be in and out before the birthday boy opens his presents." Bill stood up and started pacing. "This is insane. We're stealing from six-year-olds. Do you know what that makes us?" "Professionals," Molly said flatly. "Monsters. We're monsters." "We're thieves, Bill. There's a difference." Bill stopped pacing. "Is there though? What if one of those kids gets emotional about their stolen toys?" Molly sighed. "Then their parents buy them new ones. That's how it works." "What if they're poor? What if little Timmy was counting on that action figure for months?" "Then little Timmy learns a valuable lesson about disappointment and loss." Bill sat back down. "You're terrible." "And yet, you're still here." He picked up his sandwich again. "The clown outfit better fit right. I have dignity." Molly gathered the blueprints. "Your dignity was gone the moment you agreed to this job. Now, we need to coordinate our signals. If I tug my left ear, it means abort the mission." "When would we need to abort?" "If someone recognizes us. If security shows up. If you accidentally sit on one of the kids." "I'm not sitting on anyone." "Exactly. That's why you'll get the signal." Bill finished eating and stood. "What time do you want to rehearse the balloon animals?" Molly smiled. "Tomorrow. And Bill? Start thinking like a clown." "I'd rather commit actual crimes," he muttered. "Too late. You already are."