Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY83MQFE4C4RJE5BK65A1C8

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table, her eyes gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. Bill paced back and forth, twirling a lockpick like a baton. The blueprint of the suburban mansion was spread out before them, dotted with crayon scribbles from Bill's earlier "artistic interpretation." "Alright, Bill, spill it," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the diagram. "Why a kids' birthday bash? We're thieves, not clowns." Bill stopped pacing and leaned in, his mustache twitching. "Think about it, Mol. Every snot-nosed tyke in a ten-mile radius is showing up with gifts. Toys, gadgets, cash-stuffed envelopes—it's a goldmine! No security, just balloons and bad cake." Molly snorted, sipping her lukewarm coffee. "And parents? You know, the ones who chase you with minivans?" "Disguises, baby! We'll go as party entertainers. I'm the Amazing Billini, magician extraordinaire. You’re... uh, his sultry assistant, Magina." "Magina? That's the best you got? Sounds like a rejected X-Men villain." She smirked, circling a spot on the map. "Fine. We slip in through the backyard at 2 PM sharp, when the piñata's swinging. Kids distracted, parents tipsy on punch." Bill nodded vigorously. "Exactly! I dazzle 'em with card tricks—poof, wallet's gone. You handle the gift table. Swoop in like a hawk, stuff the swag into those oversized clown bags." "Clown bags? Bill, we're not robbing a circus. What if a kid sees us? 'Hey mister, why's your magic wand a crowbar?'" He waved her off. "Improv! Tell 'em it's part of the show. 'Abracadabra, presents disappear!' Then we bolt to the ice cream truck we rented—" "You rented an ice cream truck? With what, Monopoly money?" "Stolen plates, Mol. It's genius. We park it out front, blaring tunes. Escape route: down Elm Street, ditch the truck in the woods, hike to the van." Molly rubbed her temples. "Hike? In heels? And the loot—teddy bears and video games? We gonna fence Elmo dolls on the black market?" Bill grinned, unfazed. "Prime resale! Kids' stuff flies off shelves. Plus, think of the irony: we steal joy from joy-bringers." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Okay, contingencies. If the birthday boy cries, we abort. No toddler tantrums on my rap sheet." "Deal. And if cops show? 'Officer, we were just here for the cake!' Butter 'em up with a joke." Molly chuckled despite herself. "You're insane, Bill. But yeah, this could work. 50-50 split, and no eating the candy mid-heist." He saluted. "Scout's honor. To the heist of the century—pinata pandemonium!" As Bill launched into an impromptu magic trick with a spoon, Molly shook her head, already plotting how to tweak the plan. Thieves or not, this duo was a disaster waiting to sparkle.