# The Cake Caper Molly tapped her fingers on the kitchen table, studying the blueprint she'd stolen from the community center's recycling bin. Bill sat across from her, munching on a sandwich like they were planning a Sunday picnic instead of the greatest heist of their careers. "So the presents are stacked in the storage room behind the gymnasium," Molly said, pointing at the marked location. "Behind the gym? That's terrible," Bill replied, shaking his head. "We'll never make it past the bounce house." "The bounce house is our way in, genius." Bill nearly choked on his sandwich. "You want us to use a bounce house as a getaway vehicle?" "Not as a getaway vehicle, you idiot. As cover. Nobody suspects anything when you're bouncing around like a maniac." The afternoon light streamed through the windows as Molly pulled out a stack of photographs showing the party layout. She'd been casing the joint for three weeks, even attending a birthday party to observe their security measures. Her disguise as a divorced dad had worked perfectly. "What about the piñata situation?" Bill asked, leaning forward. "The piñata is scheduled for two o'clock. That's when we strike." "Why would a piñata schedule matter?" Molly sighed deeply. "Because while the children are distracted trying to beat a cardboard donkey senseless, we slip into the storage room, bag the presents, and exit through the emergency exit by the bathrooms." Bill stood up and walked to the window, his mind clearly working through logistics. "How many presents are we talking about here?" "Approximately forty gift bags. Each worth an average of twenty dollars retail." "That's eight hundred dollars!" "Gross," Molly corrected. "After we fence them, maybe five hundred net." "Five hundred?" Bill turned around, his expression shifting from excitement to disappointment. "That's not enough to justify the criminal record." "It's not about the money, Bill. It's about the principle. Those parents paid premium prices for birthday party services, and the center overcharges like crazy. We're redistributing wealth to the underprivileged." "We're keeping the presents for ourselves." "Exactly. We're the underprivileged," Molly grinned. Bill returned to his seat and pulled out his own notebook. "What about the party coordinator? She seemed pretty sharp when I walked by last Tuesday." "We handle her with the classic distraction technique. You spill fruit punch on her blouse right at one fifty-five." "Why do I have to do it?" "Because you're better at looking clumsy," Molly said matter-of-factly. "Last time, I spilled coffee on someone and they thought it was intentional." Bill couldn't argue with that assessment. He'd watched her once knock over an entire display at a grocery store without anyone suspecting it was anything but natural clumsiness. "Alright," Bill said finally. "When's the party?" Molly checked her calendar. "Saturday. Two o'clock sharp." Bill grabbed another sandwich from the plate between them. "One more question." "What?" "What if a kid recognizes us?" Molly smiled wickedly. "That's why we're wearing clown masks."