Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPY2E5FZ10T24MKXHR2CSY

The neon glow of the *Happy Clown Pizza Parlor* flickered through the grimy window of Molly’s stolen minivan, casting long shadows over the half-eaten chili cheese fries between them. Bill wiped his greasy fingers on his *World’s Okayest Uncle* T-shirt and squinted at the building. “You’re telling me our big score is a room full of six-year-olds and a piñata shaped like a unicorn?” Molly adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on her head—stolen from a gas station last Tuesday—and tapped the blueprint she’d swiped from the party planner’s unlocked car. “Focus, Bill. That’s not just any piñata. That’s the *deluxe* piñata. The one with the hidden compartment.” Bill snorted. “Hidden compartment for what? A lifetime supply of fruit snacks?” “No, you absolute moron. For the *real* presents.” She flipped the blueprint around, jabbing a finger at the circled section. “The parents? Loaded. The gifts? Untraceable. The security? A guy in a sweaty mascot costume who’s definitely on his third energy drink.” Bill leaned in, his breath smelling suspiciously like he’d been sampling the minivan’s previous owner’s air freshener. “So what’s the play? We waltz in as the entertainment? Because I *do* have a killer magic trick where I make your dignity disappear.” Molly ignored him. “We go in as the *cake inspectors*.” She tossed him a clipboard and a lanyard that read *SANITATION ENFORCEMENT* in bold letters. “There’s a health code violation every time some kid licks the frosting off another kid’s slice. We ‘shut it down,’ cause a distraction, and while the moms are screaming about salmonella, we swap the gift bags with our fakes.” Bill held up the lanyard. “This says *Bill ‘The Thrill’ McGill*. You didn’t even try to make it subtle.” “Subtle is for people who don’t have rent due tomorrow.” Molly checked her watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the *Cha-Cha the Clown* show starts. That’s our window.” Bill groaned. “I *hate* clowns.” “You *are* a clown.” “Professionally, maybe. But those big shoes? Nightmare fuel.” Molly shoved a party hat onto his head. “Put this on and stop whining. You’re supposed to be *undercover*, not *under-dressed*.” The minivan’s door creaked as they stepped out, the scent of melted cheese and despair thick in the air. Inside, the party was already in full swing—balloons bobbed, children shrieked, and a harried dad attempted to assemble a bouncy castle with what looked like a butter knife. Molly adjusted her name tag (*Marge, Cake Compliance Officer*) and marched toward the gift table, where a mountain of wrapped boxes glinted with promise. Bill sidled up beside her, clutching his clipboard like a life preserver. “You ever think we’re the bad guys?” Molly didn’t look at him. “No. But I *do* think we’re the only ones here who know how to open a childproof bottle of champagne.” A toddler careened into Bill’s legs, leaving a sticky handprint on his jeans. He sighed. “Okay, new plan. We steal the kids and ransom them back for the presents.” Molly grabbed his arm. “Too late. Showtime.” Cha-Cha the Clown chose that moment to blow a horn directly into Bill’s ear. He yelped, dropping the clipboard. Molly smirked. “Smooth, *Thrill*.” Bill glared. “I’m gonna need a raise.”