Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7Y5CHYF3N8SZMMYBMP64R

Molly hunched over the cluttered kitchen table in their rundown apartment, a crumpled invitation to "Timmy's Superhero Birthday Bash" pinned under her elbow. Bill paced behind her, gnawing on a stale pretzel, his eyes darting to the window like a paranoid squirrel. "Listen, Bill," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the sketch of the backyard venue. "It's perfect. Two hundred screaming kids, distracted parents, a mountain of presents under that tacky inflatable castle. We waltz in, snag the loot, and vanish before the cake's even cut." Bill snorted, spraying pretzel crumbs. "Waltz in? As what, the gift fairies? Those rugrats'll swarm us like piranhas. And the parents? They're worse—hangry after chasing toddlers all day." Molly grinned, pulling two garish clown costumes from a duffel bag. "Clowns, genius! I called ahead, posed as 'Giggle Gang Entertainers.' We're booked for balloon animals at 2 PM sharp. You do the squirting flower bit, I juggle the pies—boom, chaos cover." Bill stopped pacing, eyeing the floppy shoes. "Juggling pies? Last time you juggled, you pied yourself in the face and we blew the casino stakeout. What if a kid pukes on me? Or bites? Kids are feral!" "Relax," Molly laughed, tossing him a red nose. "Distraction plan: You lead the conga line around the present pile. I'll 'accidentally' knock over the piñata—candy explosion! While they're looting sweets, we stuff gifts into these oversized party bags labeled 'Goodie Bags for Extra Special Kids.' No one questions it." Bill tried on the nose, honking it experimentally. "Conga line? I got two left feet and a bad knee from that museum job. And goodie bags? What if Timmy Junior wants his drone back? 'Hey mister, that's my Xbox!' We'll have a pint-sized posse chasing our getaway van." Molly sketched a quick escape route on the napkin. "Van's disguised as the ice cream truck—parked out front with the jingle blaring. We load up during the cake smash, hit the gas during the piñata frenzy. Parents too busy filming for Insta to notice. Easy twenty grand in resale—Lego sets, bikes, that new VR headset everyone's raving about." Bill plopped down, grabbing the pretzel bag. "VR headset? Kid'll go cross-eyed tracking us on the news. And what about the dog? Invites say 'Fido welcome.' One bark, and we're toast." "Dog treats in my pocket," Molly winked. "Laced with sleepy-time Benadryl. Fido naps like a champ. Come on, Bill, this is gold. Better than that wedding gig where the bride clocked you with her bouquet." Bill sighed, honking the nose again. "Fine, but if I end up in kiddie jail—or worse, therapy—I'm blaming your pie-juggling ass. Giggle Gang, away!" Molly high-fived him, already zipping into her polka-dot pants. "That's the spirit. Timmy's turning six, we're turning rich. Let's make this bash legendary." (Word count: 498)