Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1DMRA3J6XXPGERDHT2B9K

The rain slicked the alleyway behind the community center, turning the cracked pavement into a mirror for the flickering neon sign that buzzed overhead. Molly adjusted her black beanie, pulling it low over her eyes as she peered around the corner of the dumpster. Bill stood beside her, nervously checking the strap of his oversized duffel bag, which was currently empty but soon hoped to be full of plush toys and board games. "Okay, here is the plan," Molly whispered, her voice tight with professional intensity. "We go in through the side door. The janitor leaves it unlocked during the party for smoke breaks." Bill blinked, looking skeptical in the dim light. "You want us to rob a six-year-old's birthday party? Really, Molly? This feels low, even for us." "Stop whining and start focusing," she snapped, tapping a laminated floor plan she had stolen from the front desk. "The target is the gift table. It is located in the main hall, directly opposite the pinata. We have a twenty-minute window while the parents are distracted by the magician." "A magician? Great, just what I needed, more illusions while I commit felony larceny against toddlers," Bill muttered, kicking a soda can. "What if the kids see us? They have eyes like hawks, Molly. Tiny, judgmental hawks." "Then we blend in," she said, pulling two oversized clown noses out of her pocket and tossing one to him. "Put that on. We pose as entertainers. Nobody questions a clown carrying a bag of balloons." Bill caught the red foam nose and stared at it with deep resignation. "I am not wearing this. I have a reputation, you know. Well, I did, before I agreed to steal Legos." "Your reputation is currently waiting in line at the DMV, Bill. Put on the nose," Molly ordered, already affixing hers to her own face. It squeaked loudly in the quiet alley. "Now, listen. Once we are inside, you create a diversion. Start a conga line or something. Get the adults moving away from the gift table." "A conga line? Are you insane?" Bill hissed, finally shoving the nose onto his face where it sat crookedly. "I do not know how to lead a conga line. I have two left feet and zero rhythm." "Then trip over something expensive," she suggested, checking her watch. "Just get their attention. I will sweep the table. Grab the big boxes first. Ignore the greeting cards; they have no resale value unless they are vintage, which these are not." "What about the cake?" Bill asked, his stomach growling audibly. "Can we take the cake? I haven't eaten since breakfast." "No cake," Molly said firmly. "Cake is messy and melts. We are professionals, not gluttons. Stick to the electronics and the high-end dolls." "This is pathetic," Bill sighed, adjusting his bag. "We used to hit banks. Now we are targeting a theme party called 'Dino-Mite Fun'." "Times are tough, Bill. The economy is down, and children's parties are surprisingly lucrative if you know where to look," she replied, creeping toward the side door. "Ready?" "No," Bill admitted, following her anyway. "But let's get this over with before I lose my soul completely." "Good attitude," Molly whispered as she jimmied the lock. "Remember, smile big. Kids love a smiling thief." "They also love calling the police," Bill grumbled as the door creaked open, revealing a hallway decorated with streamers and the faint sound of happy birthday being butchered by a group of sugar-rushed children. "Move it," Molly said, slipping inside. "Showtime."