Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA3D9X65AM4K91MZGX4Y56

Molly slid a crumpled party invitation across the grease-stained diner booth to Bill, her chipped neon nail polish tapping the cartoon unicorn emblazoned on the front. “This is our ticket—toddler birthday bash, all presents unlocked.” Bill squinted at the invitation, picking at a ketchup stain on his jacket sleeve. “Unlocked? You mean no safe? Just a pile in a corner?” “This is rich grandma’s throwing it, so every wrap has a Rolex for a teddy bear or something.” “Wait, kids don’t want Rolexes.” “Don’t care—we do. You in or you still crying about the last heist’s goldfish guard dog?” “That goldfish bit my ankle!” “It was a betta, Bill. A betta. Focus. Disguises?” “I was thinking clown? Kids love clowns.” “Clowns make toddlers scream. We’re party helpers—matching aprons, name tags that say ‘Cupcake Crew.’” “Cupcake Crew? That’s lamer than my last alias.” “Lame keeps you invisible. Timing: cake cutting at 3—everyone’s staring at the sparkler, we grab the presents.” Bill leaned in, voice dropping. “What about the pinata? I heard it’s filled with candy, but also maybe a diamond bracelet.” “Pinata’s a red herring—grandma’s hiding the good stuff in the wrapped stack labeled ‘For the Big Kid.’” “Big Kid? That’s a code name?” “No, it’s her 16-year-old grandson who couldn’t make it. Dumb luck.” “What if a kid grabs a present while we’re grabbing?” “I’ve got a distraction—squirt guns filled with glitter glue. Hit the ceiling, everyone panics.” “Glitter glue? That’s a war crime against carpet.” “Good—they’ll be too busy scrubbing to chase us. Escape route?” Bill shrugged, kicking a crumb under the booth. “My bike with the basket? But presents might fall out.” “I’ve got a folding wagon hidden behind the rose bush. We pile ’em, haul ’em to the alley, dump ’em in my trunk.” “Trunk’s still full of the last heist’s stuffed animals.” “Dump the stuffed animals in the dumpster—they’re worthless. You got a problem with that?” “No, but one of them’s a teddy bear with a voice box that says ‘I love you.’ It’s creepy.” “Creepy gets tossed. Now, do you remember the signal?” “If a parent asks, I say ‘Cupcake Crew’s here to restock the sprinkles.’” “And if a toddler hugs your leg?” “I pat their head and mumble ‘Cupcake time soon.’” Molly nodded, shoveling a bite of pancake into her mouth. “Perfect. Now, pass the syrup—this pancake’s drier than your heist plans.” Bill hesitated, then slid the syrup bottle across the booth, his eyes darting to the invitation. “What if the grandma figures us out?” “Grandma’s half-deaf and obsessed with her prize roses. She won’t notice a thing. Stop overthinking—this is easier than stealing a lollipop from a baby.” “Last time you said that, we got stuck in a tree with a flock of angry pigeons.” “That was a pigeon problem, not a heist problem. Now finish your coffee—we’ve got to pick up the aprons at the thrift store.” Bill sighed, sipping his lukewarm coffee. “What if the Cupcake Crew aprons have stains?” “Stains make it authentic—everyone thinks we’re overworked volunteers. Stop nitpicking.” “One more thing: what about the party games? I heard there’s a three-legged race that blocks the present table.” “I’ve got that covered—we’ll ‘accidentally’ knock over the lemonade pitcher right before the race, diverting the path.” “Lemonade on the floor? That’s a slip hazard.” “Slip hazards buy us 10 extra seconds. Trust me.” Bill slouched in the booth, staring at the invitation’s unicorn. “Fine. But if a toddler calls me ‘Cupcake Guy,’ I’m ditching the heist.” “Toddlers don’t name strangers—they just drool on them. Now let’s go—thrift store closes in an hour, and I don’t want to end up with aprons that say ‘Pizza Patrol’ instead.” “Pizza Patrol’s cooler than Cupcake Crew.” “Pizza Patrol draws attention—everyone asks for free slices. Cupcake Crew flies under the radar. End of discussion.” Molly slid out of the booth, crumpling the invitation and shoving it in her pocket. Bill dragged himself up, grabbing his jacket. “You owe me a cupcake after this. A real one, not a stale thrift store apron consolation prize.” “Deal. But only if you don’t trip over a toddler on your way to the present table.”