Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9GCNTARBHSVXEH2GSM5YY

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, a crumpled clown costume draped across the back of her chair. Bill paced the linoleum floor, his lanky frame casting jittery shadows from the single bulb overhead. On the table lay a dog-eared party invitation: "Superhero Bash for Timmy's 7th Birthday – All Welcome!" Scrawled notes surrounded it—blueprints of the suburban backyard, lists of potential loot like "Bike from Uncle Jerry" and "Remote-Control Dino Squad." "Okay, Bill, spill it," Molly said, tapping a pen against her chin. "We've cased the joint three times. The kid's loaded—presents piled higher than a piñata factory. But how do we waltz in without the rugrats swarming us like hyperactive bees?" Bill stopped pacing and leaned in, eyes gleaming behind his smudged glasses. "Easy, Moll. Disguises. We go as party entertainment. I'm thinking balloon animals. Twist a few dachshunds, and boom—we're invisible. Kids love that crap." Molly snorted, flipping the invitation over. "Balloon animals? You can't even blow up a whoopee cushion without passing out. Remember the casino job? You popped the safe's 'balloon' with a damn squeaky hammer." "Hey, that was artistic sabotage!" Bill protested, flopping into a chair. "Fine, scratch balloons. We pose as the magician and his assistant. I saw this bit online—pull a rabbit out of a hat, but really, it's a sack for stuffing gifts. Poof! Presents vanish." Molly arched an eyebrow, sketching a quick hat on the blueprint. "Magician, huh? You'd trip over your cape before the first trick. And the rabbit? Last pet you 'vanished' was that goldfish from the pawnshop heist. Swear it glared at me from the bowl." Bill chuckled, rubbing his chin. "Details, details. Look, the party's at noon. Parents are distracted with cake and juice boxes. We hit during the games—pin the tail on the donkey or whatever. I distract with smoke bombs—non-lethal, promise—while you load the van. Target the big-ticket items: that shiny red wagon, the drone that shoots lasers. Kid's gonna cry, but hey, collateral for the score." "Collateral? Bill, we're stealing from toddlers," Molly said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "What if one of 'em tattles? 'Mommy, the funny man took my robot!' We'd be on every neighborhood watch app by sunset." Bill waved a hand dismissively. "Pfft, kids lie. Say it's a magic trick gone wrong. Or we plant a decoy—wrap up a box of rocks as 'surprise gifts.' Nah, better idea: blame the dog. Every party's got a slobbering mutt. 'Fido ate the presents!' Classic misdirection." Molly leaned back, crossing her arms with a grin. "You're a genius when you're not being an idiot. Timing's key— in at 12:15, out by 12:30. Van parked two blocks away, engine running. No fingerprints, gloves all the way. And if the birthday boy starts bawling?" Bill mimed a dramatic bow. "I'll juggle his tears away. 'Abracadabra, kid—your bike's now mine!' We split the haul fifty-fifty. Think of it, Moll: retire to that beach house, sippin' piña coladas, no more pinching purses." She laughed, folding the blueprint. "Retire? After this clown show, we'll be lucky not to end up in kiddie jail. But hell, let's do it. Heist of the century—stealing joy from the innocent." Bill high-fived her, the table shaking. "To the present predators! May the loot be with us." As they plotted deeper into the absurd details, the apartment buzzed with their scheming energy, the heist already half comedy, half catastrophe.