Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8AA3XH9S9S8Y4RCPJ1QT6

In the dimly lit booth of a greasy diner on the edge of town, Molly and Bill hunched over a crumpled napkin sketch of the McAllister mansion. Molly, with her wild red curls and a perpetual smirk, jabbed at the drawing with a ketchup-smeared finger. Bill, a hulking brute with a neck tattoo of a cartoon safe, slurped his milkshake noisily, his eyes wide with misguided enthusiasm. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, her voice low but laced with excitement. "The party's tomorrow at noon. Little Timmy's turning eight, and that means a mountain of presents—video games, bikes, maybe even that new drone everyone's yapping about. We're talking easy five grand if we fence 'em right." Bill nodded vigorously, nearly knocking over his shake. "Yeah, Moll! But how we gettin' in? Ain't no way I'm squeezin' through a doggy door again. Last time, I got stuck and that chihuahua nearly bit my—" "Shush!" Molly interrupted, glancing around the empty diner. "We're going in disguised. You as a clown—big shoes, red nose, the works. I'll be the magician's assistant. Sparkly dress, top hat. Kids love that crap." Bill's face twisted in horror. "A clown? Moll, I hate clowns! They give me the creeps. Remember that job in Reno? That mime chased me for blocks!" Molly rolled her eyes. "It's perfect cover. While you're juggling or whatever clowns do—honking your nose, tripping over your feet—the parents will be distracted. I'll slip into the gift room, stuff the presents into black garbage bags disguised as balloon animals." "Balloon animals? That's genius!" Bill grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "But what if the kids spot us? Little brats are nosy. One time, a toddler ratted me out for stealin' cookies." "We improvise," Molly shot back. "Cry, 'Oh no, the presents are magic!' and poof, they're in the van. Speaking of which, park it out back by the bouncy castle. We'll deflate that thing for a quick getaway—nothing says 'heist success' like a flat castle and screaming kids." Bill chuckled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "You're evil, Moll. Pure evil. But what about security? Rich folks got cameras everywhere." "Handled," she said smugly. "I hacked the nanny cam feed last night. We'll loop footage of happy kids playing. By the time they notice, we'll be long gone, splitting the loot over pizza." Bill leaned in, whispering dramatically. "And if things go south? Plan B?" Molly's eyes sparkled. "We blend in. Start a conga line, lead everyone outside, then bolt with the bags. Worst case, we blame it on the imaginary friend—kids always have those." Bill burst out laughing, slapping the table. "Moll, you're a legend! This'll be the heist of the century. Stealin' from babies— who knew it'd be this fun?" "Just remember," Molly warned with a wink, "no eating the cake. Last time you did, you passed out from the sugar rush." As they clinked milkshake glasses, the absurdity of their plan hung in the air like the diner's stale coffee scent. Tomorrow, the McAllister party would never be the same.