Molly crouched behind a potted plastic dinosaur, clutching a glitter-stained notebook. “Alright, Bill. Operation Birthday Blitz is a go. You’ve got the clown disguise, right?” Bill tugged at the oversized rainbow wig. “I look ridiculous. Kids are gonna point and laugh.” “That’s the point,” Molly hissed. “They’ll think you’re part of the entertainment. Meanwhile, I slip in as the 'surprise magician.'” “You don’t know any magic.” “I know enough to pull a rabbit out of a hat if the hat’s full of smoke bombs. Focus. When do the parents arrive?” “Ten minutes. Cake cutting at ten past. That’s your window—right after 'Happy Birthday' when everyone’s singing with their eyes closed.” “Perfect. Distract them with interpretive balloon animals.” “I can only make a dog and… maybe a confused giraffe.” “Stick to the dog. Now, security?” “Mrs. Henderson from 3B is on snack duty. She’s tough—caught Timmy Jenkins stealing cupcakes last year and made him write an apology poem.” “Emotional blackmail. Classic.” “She also carries a thermos that smells suspiciously like bourbon.” “Exploitable. Any cameras?” “One. Above the piñata station. But little Timmy’s been whacking it with a broom all week. It’s tilted sideways and probably recording the ceiling.” “Bless that chaotic child. So, once I create the diversion—” “Wait, what diversion?” “I thought *you* were handling the diversion.” “No, you said you had a distraction plan!” “I said I’d *bring* the distraction. I brought the fog machine. You handle timing.” “With what? My sad balloon dog?” “You’ll think of something. You always do.” “Last time I ‘thought of something’ we had to hide in a hamster cage for three hours.” “That hamster was judging us, I could tell.” “Back to the plan. You grab the presents, I cover the exit?” “Yes. Stack them by the inflatable slide. I’ll have the stroller ready.” “The stroller?” “It’s not *just* a stroller, Bill. It’s armored. I added extra layers. Bulletproof lining, hydraulic lift, and a secret compartment for cupcakes.” “You’re obsessed with cupcakes.” “They’re emotional support pastries! Now, what if the parents start early?” “Then I start singing louder. I’ve been practicing. *Happy birthday to you—*” “Stop! You’ll blow our cover!” “You didn’t say I couldn’t rehearse!” “And keep your voice down—do you want a six-year-old to rat us out?” “They’re not that observant. Last week Billy Watson didn’t notice his backpack was on fire for twenty minutes.” “That was *your* glitter bomb!” “It was festive!” “Stay focused. Once we get the haul, we meet at the duck pond?” “Duck pond’s crawling with nannies. Let’s use the playground near the laundromat.” “Too exposed. What about the library?” “Librarians see everything. They know when you’ve got overdue fines *and* questionable life choices.” “Fine. Duck pond. But if we see even one stroller with suspiciously jiggly toddlers, we abort.” “They’re kids, Molly. Not undercover cops.” “You say that now. Remember the Halloween heist? That toddler in a pirate costume followed us for two blocks.” “He had a parrot!” “A stuffed one, Bill! It wasn’t even real!” “He *believed* it was real. That’s the danger.” “Okay, new rule: no stealing from parties with emotionally invested pets—stuffed or otherwise.” “Deal. Now, one last thing.” “What?” “If we get caught… do we blame the clown?” “Always. Clowns are inherently suspicious. It’s in their contract.” Bill adjusted his oversized shoes. “Then let’s do this. For freedom. For cupcakes. For the open road.” “And for never having to pay for a birthday present again.” Molly snapped her notebook shut. “Move out.”