Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8NZEQXW61DC3XF07FQ3MW

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table, her fingers tracing a crayon-scribbled blueprint of the Peterson's backyard. Balloons bobbed in her imagination, piñatas swinging like pendulums of doom. Bill paced, his oversized trench coat dragging on the linoleum like a reluctant sidekick. "Think about it," Molly whispered, eyes gleaming. "A dozen screaming kids, distracted by cake. We swoop in as clowns—" "Clowns?" Bill snorted, stopping mid-stride. "I look ridiculous in red noses." "Exactly! Perfect cover." She jabbed the paper. "You grab the gift table while I juggle the decoys. In and out before the piñata bursts." Bill rubbed his chin, envisioning the haul: shiny bikes, glittering dolls, enough Toys R Us bounty to fence for a yacht. But the risks—sticky-fingered toddlers, hyper parents with video cams—made his stomach twist like a licorice whip. Molly leaned back, smirking. "Worst case, we blame the dog. Or the birthday boy." Bill chuckled, but his laugh echoed hollow. "Fine. But if a kid cries, you're singing 'Happy Birthday' as distraction." As dawn crept through the blinds, their plan solidified: midnight mayhem under confetti skies. Who knew larceny could feel so childishly fun?