Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ2PWP2VCDMQMR8BXWHGZ8

Molly adjusted her oversized clown wig and glared at Bill. “You *sure* this is the right house? Last time you ‘scouted,’ we ended up in a PTA meeting stealing baked goods.” Bill squinted at the balloon arch. “Positive. See the ‘Happy 8th, Timmy’ banner? That’s our guy. Rich kid. Probably got a PlayStation in every present.” “And we’re *sure* the parents won’t notice two adults who aren’t parents?” “Pfft. We’re in costumes. I’m a magician, you’re a clown. We blend right in.” Molly gestured to her polka-dot pants. “Bill, I look like a crime scene.” “Exactly! Distracting. Now, you cause a ruckus—knock over the piñata, start a food fight, whatever. I’ll ‘help’ the mom with the presents. Classic misdirection.” “What’s *my* cut if I’m the one getting cake frosting in my eyes?” “Sixty-forty. But if you eat any of the goldfish crackers, it’s fifty.” Molly sighed. “Fine. But if I have to make balloon animals, I’m charging extra.” Bill grinned. “Deal. Now let’s go ruin a child’s birthday.” He paused. “Wait—what’s our exit strategy?” Molly patted her wig. “Same as always. Scream ‘fire,’ grab the loot, and hope no one remembers the clown with a getaway scooter.”