Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9H6C83ZNXB16KKWPYW4CA

The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Molly’s elbows, despite the August heat radiating off the cracked vinyl. She traced the floral pattern with a sugar packet, dissolving its corners into a pulpy mess. Across from her, Bill was meticulously constructing a tower of salt and pepper shakers, occasionally glancing nervously at the waitress refilling coffee for Old Man Hemlock in the corner. “So, let’s go over it again,” Molly said, finally abandoning the sugar packet’s demise. “Little Timmy’s fifth birthday. Bouncy castle. Face painting. And a mountain of presents any self-respecting magpie would kill for.” Bill’s salt-and-pepper tower wobbled. “Kill for is a strong phrase, Molly. We’re not *killing* anyone. We’re…reallocating resources.” He expertly added another pepper shaker, stabilizing the structure. “Reallocating resources to our increasingly empty bank accounts, you mean. And Timmy doesn’t *need* five remote control cars. It’s wasteful.” “He’s five, Molly. Waste is kind of their whole thing.” Bill finally finished the tower, looking ridiculously proud. "Okay, I go in posing as a… a very enthusiastic magician’s assistant. Shiny vest, overly bright bow tie, the whole bit." Molly snorted. “You? Enthusiastic? You’re less enthusiastic about brushing your teeth.” “Hey! I brush my teeth twice a week. Sometimes.” He deflated slightly. “The point is, distraction. While I’m ‘helping’ the magician – a guy named Phil, apparently, who smells faintly of regret and rabbit – you go for the loot.” “The loot being approximately thirty-seven brightly wrapped boxes of varying sizes, likely guarded by a swarm of sugar-fueled toddlers and vigilant parents. Don’t underestimate the parents, Bill. They’re ruthless when it comes to party favors.” “I’ve considered the parental units, obviously. It’s a timed operation. After the cake, before the pinata. Maximum chaos, minimal supervision.” “And the bounce house?” Molly asked, picking at a loose thread on her jeans. “Strategic avoidance. Seriously, don’t go near it. Those things are deathtraps disguised as inflatable fun.” Bill took a large gulp of coffee. "I'll create a diversion, a… uh… a spectacular disappearing act. Probably involving Phil's rabbit. Then, while everyone's looking for Harvey, you waltz in, grab the goods, and we meet back at the van." “Waltz? Really? I was thinking more of a ‘swift and efficient extraction.’ Waltz sounds… conspicuous.” “Fine, *swiftly extract*. But the vest stays. It’s crucial to my cover.” “Your cover as a man having a mid-life crisis?” Bill narrowed his eyes. "It's a sophisticated disguise, you wouldn't understand. Look, just promise me you won't start a glitter bomb fight with the mothers. Last time, it took me three days to get the stuff out of my beard." Molly grinned, a dangerous glint in her eye. “No promises.”