Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQG1MRYFVXKNQNPJBVXWQ1

The back alley behind *Party Palace* smelled like balloon rubber and stale cake frosting. Molly leaned against a dumpster, arms crossed, watching Bill pace in front of a hand-drawn blueprint of the building’s interior. “You’re telling me,” Bill said, jabbing a finger at the paper, “that the *best* time to hit a kids’ birthday party is *during* the pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey?” Molly sighed. “No, Bill. I’m saying the best time is *right after* pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, when all the parents are distracted by little Timmy’s existential crisis over missing the piñata by *three inches*.” Bill squinted. “What if Timmy’s *good* at piñatas?” “Then we adapt. Improvisation, Bill. It’s the thief’s best friend.” “Right, like that time you ‘improvised’ by pretending to be a mime at the bank heist.” “It worked, didn’t it?” “You got stuck in an *invisible box* for twenty minutes while the cops laughed at you.” Molly waved a hand. “Details. Look, the party’s in full swing in”—she checked her watch—“twelve minutes. We go in as the *entertainment*.” Bill blinked. “We’re not entertainers.” “We are *today*. You’re the magician. I’m your very enthusiastic assistant.” “I don’t know any magic tricks.” “Neither do I! That’s the *beauty* of it. We’ll just wave our hands around a lot and say ‘abracadabra’ while palming the LEGO sets.” Bill rubbed his temples. “What if someone asks for a trick?” Molly grinned. “Then we *disappear*.” “That’s not a trick, that’s just *leaving*.” “Same difference.” She tossed him a cheap top hat from her duffel bag. “Put this on. You look distinguished.” Bill jammed the hat onto his head. It immediately slid down over his eyebrows. “I look like a depressed uncle at a wedding.” “Perfect. Now, the presents are under that table by the bounce house—” “There’s a *bounce house*?” “Focus, Bill. We grab the loot, stuff it in these.” She held up two oversized gift bags labeled *FROM: SANTA (EARLY)*. “Then we ‘win’ them in the raffle.” Bill groaned. “We’re not even *entered* in the raffle.” Molly pulled out a handful of tickets. “Now we are. I lifted them from the prize table when I ‘accidentally’ walked in earlier.” “You *what*?” “I told the mom I was looking for my kid. She bought it.” “You don’t *have* a kid!” “She didn’t ask for a birth certificate, Bill.” Molly checked her watch again. “Alright, showtime. Remember—confidence is key. Walk in like you *belong* there.” Bill adjusted his hat. “I belong in prison.” “*Spirit*, Bill. Now let’s go ruin some childhoods.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the back door. Bill dug in his heels. “Wait—what if there’s a *clown*?” Molly paused. “Then we *avoid eye contact* and stick to the plan.” “Clowns *terrify* me.” “Bill, you once pickpocketed a guy mid-heart attack. You can handle a guy in face paint.” “That was *different*! The heart attack guy wasn’t *honking* at me!” Molly sighed. “Fine. If there’s a clown, I’ll distract him. You grab the presents.” Bill brightened. “How?” “I’ll challenge him to a honking contest.” Bill stared. “That’s the *worst* plan you’ve ever had.” Molly grinned. “Then it’ll *totally* work.” She kicked open the door. The sound of thirty sugar-high children screaming *Happy Birthday* flooded the alley. Bill took a deep breath. “I hate my life.” Molly patted his back. “That’s the spirit.” She marched inside, dragging him behind her. Somewhere, a balloon popped. The heist was on.