Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7PAR52D8RCDJHT4QHKEEJ

Molly paced the cramped motel room, her red wig askew, while Bill hunched over a crumpled napkin scribbled with crayon drawings of a backyard layout. The air smelled of stale coffee and desperation, but their eyes gleamed with the thrill of the score. Toys 'R' Us gift cards, action figures, maybe even a pony-shaped piñata stuffed with cash—who knew what rich parents splurged on for little Timmy's birthday bash? "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the napkin. "The party's at noon. We crash it dressed as entertainers. You be the magician, I'll be the balloon animal chick. Kids love that crap." Bill snorted, adjusting his fake mustache. "Magician? With my luck, I'll pull a rabbit out of my hat and it'll bite me. Why not clowns? Clowns are classic for kids' parties." "Clowns? Are you nuts? Last time we did clowns, that toddler screamed bloody murder and blew our cover. No, magician it is. You distract 'em with card tricks while I swipe the present pile. It's genius!" He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Genius? What if the parents are watching? Rich folks like these hire bouncers for birthday parties. I saw it on TV—nannies with tasers." Molly rolled her eyes. "Bouncers? It's a kiddie party, not the Oscars. We'll blend in. You say abracadabra, make some balloons pop, and poof—I'm out the back with a sack of goodies. Easy peasy." "Easy? What about the cake? Kids go feral around cake. One wrong move and we're buried in frosting and tantrums." She grinned, pulling out a clown nose from her pocket. "That's why we time it for the piñata smash. Chaos ensues, kids swinging bats blindly—we grab and dash. But fine, if you're chicken, we could go in as caterers. 'Oh, excuse me, ma'am, just delivering extra cupcakes... and taking all your wrapped boxes.'" Bill laughed, a deep belly rumble. "Caterers? With your cooking? You'd poison the punch. Nah, magician's fine. But I get the big presents. Last heist, you hogged the diamond necklace while I got stuck with cubic zirconia." "Dream on, partner. Fifty-fifty split, remember? Now, contingencies: Dog in the yard?" "Tranq dart disguised as a party popper," he replied smugly. "Nosy neighbor?" "Fake FBI badges. 'Routine gift inspection, ma'am.'" Molly high-fived him. "Perfect. And if a kid spots us?" Bill winked. "We bribe 'em with candy. Kids are mini-extortionists anyway." She nodded, folding the napkin. "Alright, gear up. This is gonna be the heist of the century—Operation Birthday Bandits. Just don't trip over any Legos." As they gathered their props—a top hat, a bag of fake wands, and a suspiciously large duffel—Bill paused. "Hey, Molly, ever think we should've picked a real job? Like, accounting?" She smirked. "And miss the fun? Never. Now let's go steal some joy—literally." They slipped out into the sunlight, ready to turn a celebration into their payday.