Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY93364S4DNB010KVCNNFB0

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, blueprints of the mayor's sprawling backyard spread out like a treasure map. Pinatas dangled from the ceiling fan, swaying mockingly. Bill paced, his oversized trench coat dragging on the floor, a half-chewed pretzel dangling from his lips. "Listen, Bill," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the diagram. "The party's tomorrow at noon. Two hundred screaming rugrats, cake everywhere, and a mountain of presents under that gazebo. We're talking iPads, bikes, the works. We hit fast, load the van, gone before the piñata bursts." Bill stopped pacing, eyes wide as saucers. "But Molly, kids! They're like tiny landmines. What if one bites me? Or worse, cries? I hate crying. Remember that toy store job? The toddler tantrum nearly blew our cover!" Molly rolled her eyes, sketching a quick costume outline. "That's why we're going in as the balloon animals guy and his assistant. You twist 'em into dogs, swords, whatever. Distract the brats while I sack the gifts. Black duffel bags hidden in the helium tank cart. Easy peasy." Bill snorted, grabbing a marker and doodling a clown nose on the blueprint. "Balloon animals? I can barely tie my shoes! Last time I tried, it looked like a deflated giraffe. And the parents? Those helicopter moms'll spot fakes a mile away. 'Hey, your balloon dachshund has three legs!' Boom, we're toast." "Practice, idiot," Molly snapped, tossing him a pack of balloons. She inflated one with a fierce puff, twisting it into a wobbly sword. "See? Yours'll be crap, but kids love crap. They'll swarm you like piranhas. I'll slip under the gift table—it's got that frilly skirt for cover. Unwrap nothing, just stuff and dash." Bill inflated a balloon, which popped with a bang. He yelped, clutching his chest. "Jesus, Molly! You trying to give me a heart attack before the heist? What about the clown? The real one's named Binky. We gotta neutralize him." Molly grinned wickedly, pulling a jar of itching powder from her pocket. "Laxative-laced cupcakes for Binky. He'll be sprinting to the porta-potty mid-show. Timing's perfect—party peaks at cake time, kids hyped on sugar, chaos city." Bill nodded slowly, warming up. "Okay, okay. Van parked two blocks away, fake plates. I honk three times if cops show. You got the grappling hook for the fence?" "Double-checked," she said, high-fiving him. "In and out in ten minutes. Richest score since the pet store puppy heist. We're legends, Bill." He puffed his chest. "Yeah! Molly and Bill, Party Crashers Extraordinaire. Those kids'll be crying over missing toys, but hey, builds character!" Molly laughed, folding the blueprints. "Character and therapy bills. Let's rehearse the balloon bit—one more pop, and you're walking the plank." As Bill fumbled another balloon, the fan whirred overhead, pinatas leering like conspirators. Tomorrow, the mayor's backyard would be their playground—and the presents, their jackpot.