Molly pressed her face against the fence, counting balloons. "Seventeen kids. That's at least seventeen presents, maybe more." "This feels wrong," Bill muttered, adjusting his fake mustache. "Wrong? We're professionals." "We usually steal paintings, Molly. Art. Expensive things from rich people who won't miss them." Molly spun around. "My nephew didn't invite me to his birthday party, Bill. His own aunt! Do you know how that feels?" "So we're stealing presents from children because your feelings are hurt?" "We're stealing presents because that's what we do. We steal things." She pulled out a map of the backyard. "You'll create a distraction with the clown costume while I grab the loot." Bill stared at the polka-dot outfit she'd handed him. "I'm not wearing this." "Fine. I'll be the clown. You handle the getaway tricycle." "The what?" A balloon popped inside the yard. Children screamed with delight. "We're really doing this?" Bill asked. Molly grinned. "Happy birthday, Timothy." They climbed the fence together, disappearing into a sea of streamers and unsupervised gift bags.