Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAAE62GG3JGM88KM81VJCZ

Molly pressed her nose against the frosted bakery window, eyeing the balloons bobbing above the birthday cake like tiny surveillance drones. Inside, a gang of sugar-high children ricocheted off the walls while a pile of brightly wrapped presents sat on a table like a shrine to plastic and batteries. “That,” Molly said, fogging the glass, “is the richest vein of loot I’ve ever seen.” Bill peered over her shoulder. “It’s a seven-year-old’s birthday party.” “Criminals don’t judge,” she replied. “We redistribute.” “We’re not Robin Hood,” Bill said. “We’re about to mug a bouncy castle.” Molly shrugged. “A score is a score. Look at those presents. They’ve got ‘easily pawned’ written all over them.” “They’ve got ‘from Grandma’ written all over them,” Bill muttered. “You know how vicious grandmas can get when you mess with their knitting-circle legacy.” “That’s why we’re planning and not improvising,” Molly said. “Which is new for us, I admit.” He squinted at the party. “Walk me through it. Slowly. Use small words. My conscience is screaming and it’s very distracting.” She pointed. “There’s the back door by the kitchen. Staff entrance. We get in during cake chaos.” “Cake chaos?” “The moment the candles get lit,” Molly said. “Maximum sugar, minimum supervision. Parents filming, kids shrieking, nobody watching the gift table.” Bill frowned. “And what’s our cover? We do not look like clowns.” “We’re the backup entertainment,” she said. “Balloon artists.” “I can’t make balloon animals.” “You can make balloon shapes that vaguely threaten to be animals,” Molly said. “Kids don’t care. They just want latex and attention.” “That sounded weird,” Bill said. “Focus,” she snapped. “You juggle three balloons, I slip the presents into the laundry cart.” “There’s a laundry cart?” “There will be,” she said. “I borrowed one from the hotel.” “You stole it from the hotel.” “Borrowed indefinitely,” Molly corrected. “I’m thinking we start with the big boxes. Big boxes mean serious hardware. Game consoles. Remote-control stuff. Maybe a drone.” Bill folded his arms. “Ever notice big boxes sometimes have, like, a sweater in them? What if we haul off half a ton of festive knitwear?” “Then we open a boutique,” Molly said. “We pivot. Criminals pivot.” He sighed. “What about the kids? We’re going to emotionally traumatize a roomful of tiny humans.” “They’ll be fine,” Molly said. “This will build character. Adversity is a gift.” “Their actual gifts will be in our van.” “Details,” she said. “Look, we’re not stealing birthday memories. Just the commercial packaging of those memories.” “That’s… definitely still worse,” Bill said. “Also, what if one of them cries on me? I’m not emotionally waterproof.” “You’re overthinking it,” Molly said. “We go in, we smile, we squeak balloons, we leave. In, out, like ninjas with seasonal depression.” “What about the clown?” Bill asked. “What clown?” He nodded toward the corner where a man in full rainbow wig and greasepaint honked a horn with unsettling commitment. “Real professional. That’s competition.” “Good,” Molly said. “While everyone’s busy trying not to make eye contact with him, we’re invisible.” “Or he recognizes us from the ‘incident’ at the circus,” Bill said. “That was one time and the elephant started it,” Molly replied. “Stop living in the past.” He watched a mountain of gifts grow as late parents rushed in with more bags. “That is… a lot of wrapping paper.” “See?” Molly whispered. “It’s practically begging to be liberated. Those toys will end up broken, lost, or in a landfill. We’re saving them from that fate.” “By selling them to other children,” Bill said. “Rehoming,” she corrected. “Ethically rehoming. With a finder’s fee.” He hesitated. “What if the birthday kid is, like, really cute?” “Then we don’t make eye contact,” Molly said. “Rule one of theft: never humanize the mark.” “I thought rule one was ‘don’t get caught’.” “We can have more than one rule,” she said. “We’re not savages.” Bill shifted from foot to foot. “Last chance to bail and rob somewhere morally uncomplicated. Like a bank.” “Banks don’t have piñatas,” Molly said. “Now grab the balloon pump.” He stared at the plastic pump in her hand. “You stole that from the party store too, didn’t you?” She grinned. “Consider it practice.”