Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7XCX2GZAKQ1KXSGTPD5HE

Molly hunched over the scratched wooden table in the back booth of Gino's Diner, her fingers tracing a crude map sketched on a crumpled napkin. The smell of greasy fries hung in the air, but her mind was on the glittering pile of birthday presents waiting at the McAllister kid's party across town. Bill slouched opposite her, nursing a lukewarm coffee, his lanky frame spilling out of the booth like an overstuffed scarecrow. "Alright, Molly, lay it out," Bill said, peering at the napkin. "Why hit a snot-nosed brat's bash? We're thieves, not candy bandits." Molly grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Think about it, Bill. Kids' parties are gold mines. Parents drop a fortune on toys—Lego sets, remote-control cars, the works. No alarms, no guards, just screaming rugrats and punch bowls. We swoop in, grab the gift table, and vanish. Easy peasy." Bill scratched his stubbled chin, frowning. "Easy? You wanna dodge a horde of hyper five-year-olds hopped up on sugar? One wrong move, and we're buried under a pile of sticky hands." "Exactly!" Molly leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Disguises are key. I'll go as the clown—big red nose, floppy shoes. You be the magician, top hat and cape. We 'entertain' while we stuff the swag into a bottomless magic trunk." Bill snorted, nearly spilling his coffee. "A magic trunk? Where're we getting that? And me in a cape? I look like a deflated balloon animal already." "Details, details," Molly waved him off. "We borrow props from that thrift shop on Elm. The party's at the community center—back entrance by the kitchen. I distract with balloon animals while you levitate the presents out the window. Boom, we're ghosts by cake time." Bill's eyes widened. "Levitate? With what, my charm? Last time you planned a 'simple' grab, we ended up wrestling a poodle in a pet store." "That was one time!" Molly shot back, laughing. "And we got away with the diamond collar. This is foolproof. The kid's rich—turning six, pony rides, the whole shebang. Presents worth thousands. We fence 'em quick, split the cash, and retire to that beach you keep yapping about." Bill drummed his fingers, a sly smile creeping in. "Retire? With clown makeup? Fine, but if a kid barfs on my cape, you're cleaning it. And what's the getaway? Hot-wiring the pony cart?" Molly chuckled, folding the napkin. "Nah, rented van disguised as the catering truck. We load up during the piñata piñata—chaos central. Pinata, I mean. Everyone's blindfolded, swinging sticks. Perfect cover." "Pinata cover—now that's gold," Bill conceded, raising his mug. "To the heist of the century: Operation Candy Heist." "Present Pilfer," Molly corrected, clinking her soda can against it. "And Bill? No funny business. We're pros." "Yeah, pros," Bill echoed, but his grin said otherwise. As the diner door jingled with new customers, they huddled closer, plotting the silliest score of their crooked careers.