Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5E0CRBPKCCG5RSPRF5T6K

The dusty air of the storage unit smelled of mildew and regret. Molly, perched on a crate labeled ‘Xmas - FRAGILE’, studied the blueprint with the intensity of a heart surgeon. Bill paced, his nervous energy threatening to topple a stack of old magazines. “The target is a seven-year-old’s birthday party,” Molly began, her voice flat. “Sunday, three PM, at the ‘Party Palace Pandemonium’ venue. Package retrieval window is during the ‘Cha-Cha Slide’.” Bill stopped pacing. “The what slide?” “The ‘Cha-Cha Slide’. It’s a group dance. Maximum auditory and visual distraction. All adults will be either recording on their phones or attempting to hip-thrust in a socially acceptable manner. The presents will be unattended at the gift table for a minimum of four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.” “We’re stealing from a kid?” Bill rubbed the back of his neck. “My karma’s bad, Mol, but it’s not ‘steal-a-teddy-bear’ bad.” “It’s not a teddy bear, Bill. It’s a principle. The principle of unguarded assets.” She tapped the blueprint. “Security is a joke. One exhausted father named Kevin on ‘cake watch’, and a teenage employee in a dinosaur costume whose peripheral vision is nil. The real obstacle is the wrapping paper.” Bill blinked. “Wrapping paper.” “Aluminum-based. Metallic sheen. It’ll play havoc with the motion sensors on my scanner. We need to know which boxes contain the high-value items: electronics, gold chains from weird uncles, cold hard cash in a card.” “So we case the gift table before the dance?” “No. We infiltrate the party as entertainment.” Molly pulled a lumpy bag from behind the crate. She unzipped it to reveal two garish, fuzzy costumes. One was a giant banana. The other was a lopsided sunflower. Bill stared, his mouth slightly open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “The regular mascots called in sick. I intercepted the venue’s frantic email. We’re ‘Barry Banana and Sally Sunflower’. We do the dance with them, we lead the conga line, and during the key musical number, we create a diversion.” “In a banana suit.” “Correct. You’ll ‘accidentally’ slip on a juice box. The fall will look dramatic. The kids will scream with laughter. Kevin will rush to help. In the commotion, I will empty the gift table using the oversized shopping bags we’ll have for ‘party favor distribution’.” Bill picked up the banana head. It smelled faintly of sweat and despair. “The extraction?” “Out the service entrance, into the waiting ice cream truck. Not a real one, obviously. The van with the freezer unit we used in the Bologna job.” “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Bill muttered, sinking onto a crate. “What’s the exit strategy if a kid tries to hug the banana?” “Hug back. Briefly. Then cite a pollen allergy. Sunflower will intervene.” Molly’s face was deadly serious. “Bill, this is clean. No lasers, no guard dogs, no silent alarms. Just noise, chaos, and sentimentality. It’s the perfect heist.” Bill looked from the sad sunflower costume to Molly’s determined eyes. He let out a long, slow breath that stirred the dust motes in the slanting light. “Fine. But I’m not being the banana. The banana looks clumsy. I have a reputation.” “Your reputation is that you got stuck in a dog door in Milwaukee. You’re the banana. Sunflower requires delicate hip-work during the conga.” Grumbling, Bill pulled the fuzzy yellow body over his shoulders. His voice was muffled from inside the crate. “I just… I hope the kid gets a pony or something later. To make up for it.” Molly allowed herself a small, sharp smile as she zipped up the sunflower’s stem. “Sentimentality, Bill. That’s what we’re counting on. Now, let’s rehearse the ‘Cha-Cha Slide’. Left foot, stomp.”