Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9CHZEVPCDFFBX3A590JW4

The chipped Formica table wobbled with every frustrated thump of Bill’s fist. He’d been staring at the floorplan – a crayon rendering by a seven-year-old labelled “My Room!” – for a solid fifteen minutes. It featured a lopsided bed, a wardrobe radiating aggressive purple, and a distinctly menacing drawing of a dinosaur. Crucially, it *didn't* detail the strategic placement of motion sensors. “Right,” Bill said, finally lifting his head, a pinched look marring his face. “Operation Birthday Bonanza is…less bonanza-y than I’d hoped.” Molly, perched on a bar stool and meticulously polishing a pair of oversized novelty sunglasses, didn’t bother looking up. “You said that about the pigeon racing job, and we ended up with a lifetime supply of birdseed and a very angry fancier.” “That’s different. Pigeons are unpredictable. Children’s parties are just…sticky.” “Sticky with potential, you mean?” Molly finally looked up, her sunglasses reflecting the fluorescent lights of the diner. “Think of it, Bill. A whole room full of unopened loot. Barbie dream houses, remote control cars, possibly even a gaming console. Untouched. A veritable treasure trove.” Bill rubbed his temples. “A treasure trove guarded by, let's not forget, a gaggle of sugar-fueled seven-year-olds and their incredibly observant parents.” “Parents are distracted. Cake. Games. That weird adult small talk about mortgage rates.” Molly waved a dismissive hand. “We go in during musical statues. Everyone’s frozen. Perfect.” “Musical statues? You’re basing our entire operation on the whims of a DJ playing children’s music?” Bill sounded genuinely horrified. “It’s strategic! Think, Bill! Maximum immobility. Minimal witnesses. We’re in, we’re out, presents secured.” Molly slid off the stool and began pacing, demonstrating the efficiency with which they could potentially operate. “You distract the adults with a dazzling display of balloon animal artistry - you’re surprisingly good at those poodles, remember?” “I made one poodle. At a company picnic. And it looked more like a deformed rat.” “Details, details. Just focus on charming the parental units while I liberate the goods. We'll need the duffel bags with the reinforced bottoms. Last time, the LEGO nearly ripped through.” “And the grappling hook?” Bill asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “Maybe not. It feels a little…much for a bouncy castle vicinity.” Molly conceded. “We’ll stick to the classic over-the-shoulder maneuver. Discreet. Elegant.” Bill groaned. “Elegant? We’re robbing a birthday party, Molly. Did you even scout the perimeter?” “Of course! There’s a conveniently located rose bush under a window. Classic entry point.” “A rose bush? You’re planning on getting impaled on thorns for…a Furby?” “It’s not about the Furby, Bill! It's about the principle!” Molly’s voice rose slightly. “It's about proving we can pull off anything. And let's be honest, a vintage Furby is going for a pretty penny these days.” Bill stared at her, then sighed. “Fine. Rose bush it is. But if I get a single thorn in my backside, I'm blaming you.”