Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPXHN36R5P06RTPWRZ7NEW

The neon glow of the *Dizzy Dinosaur Pizza Parlor* flickered through the rain-streaked windshield as Molly adjusted her sequined party hat in the rearview mirror. It read *#1 Birthday Girl* in glittery letters that had already started peeling off. Bill fiddled with the walkie-talkie, his sausage-like fingers struggling with the tiny buttons. “You sure this thing’s not just a toy? Because it looks like something they’d hand out in a cereal box.” “It *is* a toy,” Molly said, snatching it from him. “I swiped it from the last birthday we hit. But it works. Mostly.” “Mostly?” “Fine, it only picks up transmissions from people who sound like they’ve inhaled too much helium. But that’s half the parents at these things anyway.” Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. “Remind me again why we’re robbing a six-year-old’s birthday party instead of, say, a bank like normal criminals?” Molly gasped, clutching her chest. “Bill. *Bill.* This is *prime* loot. You think rich parents skimp on birthday presents? Last week, I saw a kid unwrap an iPad *and then immediately drop it in the bouncy castle.* That’s the kind of careless wealth we’re dealing with.” “An iPad? That’s it? I was promised rare Beanie Babies. Limited edition Funko Pops. Maybe one of those creepy dolls that blink and whisper your name—” “Those are *haunted*, Bill.” “Exactly! High resale value!” Molly ignored him, flipping open a crumpled invitation. “Okay, target is *Little Lord Fauntleroy the Third*—yes, that’s his actual name—whose daddy owns half the city’s parking garages. Guest list includes the mayor’s niece, a child influencer with *three million followers*, and—” she squinted “—*Bubbles the Clown*.” Bill groaned. “Clowns. Why’s it always clowns?” “Because clowns are the *perfect* distraction. While Bubbles is making balloon animals, we’re making off with the haul. Classic misdirection.” “Or we could just *not* break into a room full of sugar-crazed children and a man in face paint who may or may not have a criminal record longer than ours.” Molly shot him a look. “You’re just mad because last time, that mime recognized you.” “He *chased me*!” “He was *miming* chasing you. Big difference.” Bill muttered something about “artistic integrity” as Molly checked her watch. “Alright, phase one: we go in as *Molly and Bill, the World’s Okayest Party Magicians*. Our act is terrible, but that’s the point—no one suspects the terrible magicians.” “Our act *is* terrible.” “Thank you, that’s the idea. While I’m ‘accidentally’ setting my sleeve on fire, you hit the present table. Standard smash-and-grab, but with more glitter.” Bill peered at the parlor’s front door, where a harried mom was already herding a pack of shrieking kids inside. “What if someone stops me?” Molly tossed him a handful of temporary tattoos. “Slap one of these on your face and start crying about ‘not getting invited to the pinata game.’ Works every time.” Bill held up a tattoo of a tearful unicorn. “This is *humiliating*.” “Less humiliating than getting tackled by a dad who bench-presses minivans for fun.” Molly adjusted her hat one last time. “Now let’s go ruin a child’s special day.” Bill took a deep breath. “I hate my life.” Molly grinned. “No, you don’t. You love it. Admit it—this is the most fun you’ve had since we stole that priest’s bingo winnings.” Bill opened his mouth to argue, then paused. “Okay, yeah, that *was* pretty fun.” “Told you.” Molly popped the trunk. “Now grab the fake wand. And for God’s sake, don’t eat any of the cake. Last time, you got frosting in the getaway car for *weeks*.” Bill sighed, reaching for the wand—a sparkly tube with a broken light at the end. “Fine. But if I have to listen to one more round of *Baby Shark*, I’m turning myself in.”