Molly adjusted the fake mustache in the mirror. “You sure this clown gig pays enough to risk our lives for a room full of Legos?” Bill zipped up his rainbow suspenders. “Not the Legos, genius. It’s the envelopes. Grandmas don’t hand out IOUs. There’s twenty parties within five blocks. We hit one, grab the loot, vanish before the monkey jumps out of the cake.” “Still feels low. We robbed a bank last week.” “And found three bucks and a coupon for dry cleaning. Kids’ parties? Cash, checks, gift cards—untraceable, unmissed. Who reports their great-aunt Edna’s $20 birthday card stolen?” “You’re forgetting the clown.” “What about him?” “There’s already a clown, Bill. We can’t have two clowns.” “We can if he’s unconscious.” “You didn’t tell me we were tackling a clown!” “He’ll be fine. I’ll use the glitter bomb. Non-lethal, messy, psychologically devastating.” Molly sighed. “And the kids?” “What about ‘em?” “You’re just gonna steal presents while toddlers scream?” “They’ll get over it. Besides, we’re not monsters. I’ll leave ‘em one present. A participation trophy.” “Generous.” “And I’ll do a little dance. Distract ‘em with joy.” “You can’t dance.” “I can today.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got glitter in my boots and crime in my heart.”