Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPEDSCB5TYMYQ35XNM132V

The fluorescent lights of the diner buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, casting a sickly glow over the chipped Formica table where Molly and Bill sat. A half-eaten plate of fries congealed between them, forgotten in favor of the blueprint spread across the table. Molly tapped a manicured nail against the paper, her lips pursed in concentration. "You’re telling me we’re hitting a *kids’ party*?" Bill said, scratching his stubble. "I’ve robbed banks, I’ve lifted jewels, but this feels… wrong." Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You once stole a priest’s collection plate mid-sermon. This is practically charity work." "Yeah, but the priest *expected* it. These are *children*, Mol. They cry when you take their stuff." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Exactly. Who’s gonna suspect a couple of thieves at a six-year-old’s birthday bash? The cops? They’ll be too busy laughing at the idea to actually show up." Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. "I can already see the headlines: *‘Notorious Thieves Nabbed After Heist Gone Wrong—Culprits Found Sobbing in Ball Pit.’*" Molly snatched a fry and pointed it at him. "Focus. The target is the *presents*. Not the kids. We grab the loot, we bounce. Simple." "Simple," Bill muttered. "Until some toddler mistakes me for Santa and tries to sit on my lap." She smirked. "Then you’ll finally get to use that self-defense training you’re always bragging about." Bill sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine. But if I get glitter on my shoes, I’m holding you personally responsible." Molly grinned, folding the blueprint with a sharp *snap*. "Deal. Now, here’s the plan—" A waitress shuffled over, her nametag reading *Doris* in peeling letters. "You two need anything else?" Molly beamed. "Just the check, thanks. We’ve got a *very* important engagement." Doris squinted at the blueprint, then at them, then back at the blueprint. "You two ain’t plannin’ nothin’ illegal, are ya?" Bill choked on his soda. Molly patted his back, still smiling. "Of course not. We’re *event planners*." Doris didn’t look convinced, but she shuffled off anyway. Molly turned back to Bill, lowering her voice. "Okay, phase one: we get in as *parents*." Bill’s eyebrows shot up. "Parents? Mol, I once got kicked out of a Chuck E. Cheese for *looking* at a kid wrong." "Relax. We’ll say we’re the *cool* aunt and uncle. The ones who show up late with the *best* presents." She pulled a gift bag from her purse—bright pink, covered in cartoon unicorns. "See? Already blending in." Bill stared at the bag like it might bite him. "That thing’s giving me flashbacks to my ex’s Pinterest board." Molly shoved it into his hands. "Carry it. Look natural." He held it at arm’s length. "I look like I’m about to propose to a five-year-old." "Perfect. Now, phase two—" A sudden crash from the kitchen made them both jump. A busboy had dropped a tray of dishes, and the diner’s patrons turned to stare. Molly exhaled sharply. "We’re gonna need a distraction." Bill groaned. "I *knew* you were gonna say that." She grinned. "Don’t worry. I’ve got just the thing." She reached into her purse and pulled out a whoopee cushion. Bill’s face went pale. "Oh, come on." Molly wiggled it at him. "Trust me. Nothing clears a room like the sound of a fart at a children’s party."