Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQE5J0TQ8KGVDYY2X80H22

The neon glow of the *Happy Clown Pizza & Playland* sign flickered like a dying firefly, casting long, wobbly shadows across the alley where Molly and Bill crouched behind a suspiciously sticky dumpster. Molly adjusted her oversized rainbow wig—stolen from a Halloween clearance bin—and wiped a smear of face paint from her cheek. It was supposed to be a butterfly. It looked more like a crime scene. “You’re sure this is the place?” Bill whispered, tugging at the collar of his rented clown costume. The squeaky red nose kept slipping, and every time he breathed, the curly wig inched closer to his eyebrows. “Because I swear to God, Mol, if we get caught stealing from a bunch of six-year-olds, I’m telling the cops you forced me into this.” Molly shot him a look that could curdle milk. “Oh, please. Like you weren’t the one who said, ‘Where’s the easiest score in town?’” She jabbed a finger toward the plate glass window, where a horde of sugar-fueled children screamed around a bouncy castle shaped like a dragon. “Birthday parties, Bill. It’s *genius*. No security, no alarms, just a room full of distracted parents and a piñata full of cash.” Bill peered over the dumpster. “That’s not a piñata. That’s a *unicorn*. And it’s full of *glitter*.” “Same difference.” Molly pulled a crumpled flyer from her pocket. “*‘Bring a gift, leave with memories!’*” she read. “Memories my ass. We’re leaving with a trunk full of LEGOs and iPads.” Bill groaned. “We’re monsters.” “No, *we’re* entrepreneurs.” Molly smacked a tube of glitter glue into his hand. “Now put this on your face and try to look less like a guy who just got paroled.” Inside, the party was in full swing. A harried mom in a “World’s Best Aunt” sweatshirt clapped her hands over the shrieks of “Pin the Tail on the Donkey” gone wrong. The birthday boy, a tiny tyrant in a dinosaur onesie, sat atop a mountain of presents, ripping through wrapping paper like a velociraptor through a herd of gazelles. Molly sidled up to the snack table, plucking a handful of cheese cubes. “Phase one: blend in.” She nodded toward Bill, who was currently attempting to fold himself into a tiny chair. The chair creaked ominously. “Phase two,” Bill hissed, “is *not* getting impaled by a plastic fork.” Molly ignored him, eyeing the gift pile. “We hit the presents during cake. Parents are distracted, kids are hyped on sugar, and—” She paused as a toddler hurled a handful of frosting at her shoe. “—and we’ve got a three-minute window before someone notices the ‘clowns’ are loading up a U-Haul.” Bill wiped frosting off his sleeve. “What’s phase three?” “Phase three is *not* getting recognized by that cop’s kid.” Molly nodded toward a uniformed officer laughing as his daughter smeared ice cream into her hair. “You *did* remember to shave your ‘Free Tommy’ neck tattoo, right?” Bill’s hand flew to his throat. “It’s a *dolphin*!” “It looks like a prison shank.” Molly grabbed his arm. “Move. Now. Before someone asks why the clowns are sweating through their face paint.” They inched toward the gift table, Molly humming “Happy Birthday” off-key while Bill “accidentally” knocked over a tower of juice boxes. As the parents scrambled, Molly deftly swapped a Barbie Dreamhouse for an empty diaper box, tucking the loot under her arm. Bill froze. “Mol. The kid’s staring at me.” Molly didn’t look up. “Smile. Wave. Pretend you’re not a wanted felon.” The dinosaur onesie approached, squinting. “Mister? Your shoes are untied.” Bill’s face went pale. “Uh. Thanks, champ.” He fumbled with laces that were very much tied. The kid crossed his arms. “Also, your wig’s crooked.” Molly grabbed Bill’s sleeve. “Abort. *Abort!*” They bolted for the exit, Molly’s wig flying off as she vaulted over a stray tricycle. Behind them, the birthday boy pointed. “Mom! The clowns stole my *Nintendo*!” Bill skidded into the alley, gasping. “We are *never* doing kids’ parties again.” Molly grinned, tossing him a handful of stolen candy. “Next time, we hit a *bar mitzvah*. Those kids got *money*.”