Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA7QGMGZHVCJAKPBCN90PH

The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Molly’s elbows. She stabbed a french fry with unnecessary force. Across from her, Bill was meticulously folding and refolding a napkin. It was a nervous habit. He got twitchy before a job. “So, the bounce house is… secure?” Molly asked, not looking up. Bill stopped his origami. “Relatively. Brenda, the mom, is obsessed with glitter. Glitter *everywhere*. It’s a tactical distraction, honestly. She’ll be too busy vacuuming to notice a couple of seasoned professionals relieving her of a mountain of plastic junk.” “Seasoned is generous. We stole a garden gnome and a bag of gummy bears last month, Bill. That barely qualifies us for amateur hour.” “Hey! That gnome was porcelain! And the bears were *sour* gummy bears. Higher risk, higher reward.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Right. Okay, so glitter. Bounce house. What about the kids?” “That’s where you come in, Sunshine. Your uncanny ability to blend in with small humans is a gift.” Bill finally abandoned the napkin and leaned forward. “Fake enthusiasm. Ask about superheroes. Compliment questionable art projects. You’re a natural.” “I’m a thirty-year-old woman pretending to be thrilled about finger painting. It’s degrading.” “Degrading but lucrative. Think of the payday. Enough for that vintage espresso machine you’ve been eyeing.” Molly’s eyes flickered. “The La Pavoni?” “The La Pavoni is within reach, Molly. Within reach. The plan is simple. I create a minor diversion – tripped extension cord, rogue balloon animal, something. You melt into the present pile, use the oversized gift bags as concealment, and start loading. I’ll signal when Brenda’s focusing on the cake.” “‘Signal’ being you loudly ask where the bathroom is?” “Precise timing is crucial. And multitasking. I’ll also subtly gauge the quality of the cake. Information gathering, Molly, information gathering.” “You’re going to critique a five-year-old’s birthday cake while I’m stuffing a Thomas the Tank Engine train set down my pants?” “It’s not down your pants! It's into the bags! Strategic concealment!” Bill’s voice was rising. “Look, think of it: Power Rangers action figures, Lego castles, enough Barbie accessories to open a boutique. We’ll be set for months.” “What if they have a dog?” Bill paused. “Brenda didn’t mention a dog.” He pulled a crumpled flyer from his pocket — “Barnaby’s Birthday Bash! 3 PM - 5 PM!” — and squinted at the fine print. “Wait a minute… ‘Please, no gifts containing small parts. Barnaby has a curious canine companion.’ A canine companion?!” Molly groaned. “Of course. It's always a canine companion. Just our luck.” “Okay, new plan. We go in early, bribe the dog with bacon. The La Pavoni is at stake, Molly. *Bacon*.”