Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9NPNWS5BEJH8MDT3HFJAD

Molly slouched in the ratty armchair of their cramped hideout, a half-eaten pizza box wedged under her elbow. Bill paced the linoleum floor, waving a crumpled party invitation like a battle flag. The blueprint of "Little Timmy's 7th Birthday Bash Extravaganza" lay spread out on the coffee table, marked with greasy fingerprints and highlighter doodles of exploding cakes. "Bill, you sure about this? Kids' parties? We're talking face paint, balloon animals, and enough sugar to fuel a riot," Molly said, popping a crust into her mouth. "Exactly! Perfect cover. No one's expecting thieves at a kiddie shindig. We waltz in as the entertainment—clowns, Molly! Big red noses, floppy shoes. I grab the present pile while you distract with magic tricks," Bill replied, honking an imaginary horn. Molly snorted. "Magic tricks? Last time you did 'saw the lady in half,' you nearly took off my pinky. And what about the parents? Hungover soccer moms with selfie sticks?" Bill grinned, sketching a lopsided clown wig on the blueprint. "We spike the punch with sleepy-time juice. Non-lethal, promise. Kids pass out mid-pin-the-tail, parents nap on bounce houses. Boom—presents ours. Xboxen, bikes, that new drone Timmy's getting from Uncle Rich." "Uncle Rich? The one with the security cam fetish?" Molly leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Plan B if he shows?" "Piñata ploy! I rig it with knockout candy. One whack, confetti and snoozes everywhere. You scoop gifts into the van disguised as the cake delivery truck. Engine's quiet as a mouse fart." Molly laughed, nearly choking on pizza. "Cake truck? Brilliant. But the kids—hyper little gremlins. What if they swarm us? 'Hey mister, your nose is leaking!'" Bill struck a pose, waddling in exaggerated clown steps. "We go full chaotic. I juggle the presents out the back door while yelling, 'Abracadabra, they're gone-a!' You herd the rugrats with balloon swords. Escape route: bounce house tunnel to the alley. Inflate it behind us—poof, human hamster wheel blocks pursuit." She clapped slowly. "Okay, genius, timing? Party peaks at 3 PM, cake at 3:15. We hit at 3:10, post-games, pre-sing-along." "Spot on. Gear check: squirting flowers with chloroform mist, pockets full of whoopee cushions for diversions. Haul's gotta be 20K easy—regift online, we're golden." Molly stood, grabbing the blueprint. "One hitch: the birthday boy. What if Timmy cries? Guilt trip city." Bill waved it off. "Leave a decoy present—a rubber chicken that farts glitter. Kid'll love it. We're heroes in his nightmares!" They high-fived, cackling as Bill tripped over a pizza box, sprawling face-first into the table. Molly hauled him up. "Practice that clown fall, Bill. Heist of the century starts tomorrow. No screwing the pooch." "Or the piñata," he wheezed, rubbing his nose. "This is gonna be a birthday they'll never forget." (Word count: 498)