Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1T4ST6A56J4XC1R9NK05N

"Okay, listen up, because this is the big one," Molly whispered, crouching behind a oversized cardboard cutout of a smiling clown. "We hit the birthday party at six. In and out before the cake is even cut." Bill adjusted his black ski mask, which was currently slipping over his eyes. "A children's party? Really, Mol? I thought we were hitting the bank vault downtown. Or maybe a jewelry store. Something with actual value." "The value is in the volume, Bill! Think about it. Twenty kids, maybe thirty. Each kid brings a gift. That's thirty boxes of LEGOs, action figures, dolls, and electronic gadgets. We fence that stuff, we're set for months." "But they're kids," Bill hissed, peeking around the clown's giant red nose. "They scream. A lot. And their parents are like hawks. One wrong move and we're surrounded by angry moms with strollers as weapons." "That's why we go in as entertainment," Molly said, pulling a brightly colored vest out of her backpack. "You're going to be 'Uncle Bill the Balloon Animal Expert.' I'll be 'Auntie Molly the Face Painter.' We blend in, we locate the gift table, and we execute the swap." "The swap? What swap?" "We bring empty duffel bags disguised as piñatas. We hang them near the gift table. When everyone is singing 'Happy Birthday,' we cut the real gifts down, stuff them into the piñata bags, and leave the empty boxes. Simple." Bill sighed, the sound muffled by the thick wool of his mask. "I don't know how to make balloon animals, Mol. Last time I tried, I just made a long, sad sausage that popped immediately." "Then make sad sausages! The kids will love the irony. Just don't pop them near the candles. Fire is bad for business." "And what if a kid asks me to paint a butterfly on their cheek and I accidentally draw a skull?" "Then tell them it's a goth butterfly. It's trendy. Look, focus on the objective. The gift table is next to the punch bowl. That's our entry point. You create a distraction." "What kind of distraction? A magic trick?" "No, a disaster. Knock over the punch bowl. Spill everything. While the parents are panicking about sticky carpet and ruined dresses, we grab the loot." "Ruining a kid's birthday seems a little low, even for us," Bill muttered, finally pulling the mask up to his forehead. "It's not personal, it's professional. Besides, they have cake. They'll get over it. Do you want to retire on a beach or spend another winter stealing copper wire from construction sites?" "The beach sounds nice," Bill admitted. "But I really hate clowns. This cutout is staring at me." "Stop looking at it then. Check your watch. We have ten minutes before the guests arrive. Put on the vest." "This vest smells like glitter and desperation," Bill complained, shimmying into the neon yellow fabric. "And it's too tight around the shoulders." "Good. That means you look authentic. Now, repeat the plan back to me." "Enter as entertainers. I make sad balloon sausages. You paint goth butterflies. I knock over the punch. We steal the presents in piñata bags. We run." "Perfect. Now smile, Uncle Bill. You're about to make some very wealthy children very sad." "I feel sick," Bill groaned. "Save it for the performance. Showtime."