Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQA84V5YZKEQWYJNCBS9Y2

The rain drummed against the roof of the stolen ice cream truck, a perfect disguise for their latest heist. Molly adjusted her oversized sunglasses, even though it was pouring outside, and flipped through a crumpled invitation. "Okay, so the party starts at three, but the presents are delivered at two-thirty. That gives us exactly forty-five minutes to case the joint, disable the security—" "Security?" Bill interrupted, stuffing his face with a stolen cookie. "It's a kids' party, Molly. The only security is a mom with a phone and a vague threat of 'telling Dad.'" Molly sighed. "Fine. But we still need a plan. The house is a two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch. Back door’s probably unlocked—" "Or we could just walk in the front door," Bill said, gesturing wildly. "It’s a *party*. No one questions a guy in a clown costume." Molly stared at him. "You’re not wearing a clown costume." "Yet," Bill said, pulling a red nose from his pocket. "I’ve got the whole ensemble in the back. Wig, oversized shoes, the works." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "We are not breaking into a children’s party dressed as clowns." "Says who?" Bill grinned. "Look, think about it. Kids love clowns. Parents love clowns. The only people who don’t love clowns are the ones who’ve seen *It* one too many times, and those people are already suspicious." Molly groaned. "We are not discussing Stephen King right now." "Fine, fine." Bill waved a hand. "But hear me out—we go in as the entertainment. I juggle, you do magic tricks, and while the kids are distracted, we swap the presents with our duplicates." Molly raised an eyebrow. "You can juggle?" "Of course I can juggle," Bill said, immediately dropping a banana and a rubber chicken. "Okay, maybe not *well*, but the kids won’t know the difference." Molly rubbed her temples. "We are not doing this. We are going in, grabbing the presents, and getting out before the cake is cut." Bill pouted. "You’re no fun." "Bill, we are professional thieves, not party crashers." "Same difference," he muttered. Molly ignored him and pulled out a blueprint of the house. "The presents will be in the living room. We go in through the back, grab the loot, and leave before the magician arrives." Bill gasped. "There’s a magician?" Molly groaned. "Focus, Bill." "Right, right." He leaned over the blueprint. "So, we go in, grab the presents, and—wait, why are we stealing kids’ presents again?" Molly shot him a look. "Because they’re expensive, and because the parents are rich enough to not notice." Bill nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. The classic 'steal from the rich, give to the poor' routine." Molly smirked. "And by 'poor,' you mean us." "Exactly." Bill grinned. "So, when do we leave?" Molly checked her watch. "Now. And Bill?" "Yeah?" "No clown costumes." Bill sighed dramatically. "You’re crushing my dreams, Molly."