Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9JX85WHFY37G5DYKHXAHD

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, blueprints of the community center sprawled out like a treasure map gone wrong. The air smelled of stale coffee and yesterday's takeout pizza. Bill paced behind her, his lanky frame casting jittery shadows under the flickering bulb. They were pros at this—well, semi-pros, if you counted the time they "borrowed" a neighbor's lawnmower and never gave it back—but hitting a kids' birthday bash for the haul of presents? That was a new low, even for them. "Look, Bill, it's genius," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the sketch of the party room. "Rich parents, spoiled brats, mountains of wrapped loot under that balloon arch. We slip in as clowns—" "Clowns? Molly, I look like a giraffe in greasepaint. Last time I tried a disguise, the cops thought I was a escaped zoo reject." Bill stopped pacing and leaned over the table, his mustache twitching like it had a mind of its own. She smirked, unfazed. "Exactly! Perfect cover. Kids love clowns. We'll juggle the presents right out the door. You do the silly walk, I'll honk the horn and distract the birthday boy. By the time the parents notice, we're gone with enough toys to fence for a small fortune." Bill scratched his chin, eyeing the diagram's side entrance marked with a red X. "And the rugrats? What if one of 'em clings to my leg? Or worse, starts crying? I hate crying. Reminds me of Aunt Edna's funeral." Molly rolled her eyes, sketching a quick escape route with a chewed pencil. "We'll bribe 'em with candy. Or threaten to cancel the piñata. Come on, it's low-risk. No alarms, no guards—just cake and chaos. We time it for the cake-cutting; everyone's eyes on the candles." He snorted, grabbing a cold slice of pizza from the box. "Low-risk? You're forgetting the helium balloons. One pop, and we're balloon animals in a lineup. What if the host is that soccer mom from the neighborhood watch? She once chased me with a garden hose for 'suspicious loitering'—which was just me checking the mail." "Details, Bill. We'll wear those big red noses. Impenetrable alibis." Molly straightened up, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The plan was ridiculous, sure, but in their line of work, ridiculous paid the rent. She imagined the haul: shiny bikes, video games, enough stuffed animals to start their own black-market zoo. Bill sighed, but a grin cracked his face. "Fine. But if I end up twisting balloons into handcuffs, you're bailing me out. And no singing 'Happy Birthday'—my voice cracks like a bad egg." "Deal," she said, slapping his hand. "Tomorrow, we hit the party supply store. Operation Present Panic begins at noon." As the night wore on, they refined the details amid fits of laughter, oblivious to the fact that their "foolproof" scheme was about as watertight as a colander. Little did they know, the real heist would involve face paint fights and a piñata full of surprises—but that's a story for another page.