Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAFPJA1XJW8TQ7HW3WYWYE

Molly slammed a glossy brochure onto the scarred diner table, her eyes gleaming under the flickering neon light. Bill leaned in, crumbs from his half-eaten donut dusting his shirt. "Listen up, Bill. Richie McRichpants' eighth birthday. Mansion on Elm Street. Presents piled higher than a piñata factory. We're talking Xboxes, bikes, drones—the works. We hit at peak chaos, two o'clock sharp." Bill whistled low. "Kids everywhere? Screaming gremlins with sticky fingers? Sounds suicidal, Mol. What's the play?" "Simple. We go in as the entertainment. I snagged these from the costume shop." She tossed floppy clown shoes his way. "You: Bozo the Burglar. Me: Silly Sally the Swipe Queen. Juggle the gifts right out the door." Bill snorted, trying on a shoe. It engulfed his foot like a red raft. "Clowns? I look like a deranged sock puppet! What if some snot-nosed brat tugs my wig? Or worse, they want balloon animals?" "Practice your shtick! 'Hey kids, watch this vanishing act!'" Molly honked an invisible horn. "We mingle, spike the punch with sleepy-time juice—nothing lethal, just a nap party. Then, gift grab. Load the van disguised as the bounce house truck." Bill paced, oversized shoe flopping. "Bounce house truck? Brilliant! But security? Daddy McRichpants probably has laser grids or ninja nannies." "Nah, hired Pinkerton's rejects. We'll distract with pie fights. You pie the guard, I pie the dog. Presents to the van in five minutes flat. Sell 'em on the black market by dawn—we're swimming in cash!" He rubbed his chin. "Pie the dog? It'll bite my red nose off! And what about the cake? Kids love cake. We smash it?" "Smash and dash! Yell 'Food fight!' Total anarchy. We slip out amid the frosting apocalypse. Cops chase the caterer clown, not us." Bill grinned maniacally. "Okay, I'm in. But I call dibs on the drone. Always wanted one. And if we snag that pony—" "No pony! Too big. Focus, Bill. Timers: enter at 2:00, pies at 2:05, grab at 2:10, gone by 2:15. Masks on, no names. Code word: 'Happy Birthday, suckers!'" "Perfect. But Mol, one hitch—what if they sing? 'Happy birthday dear Richie'? We gotta join or blow cover." "Sing loud! Off-key. 'Happy burgling to you!' Ha! We're pros." Bill high-fived her. "To the sweetest heist ever! Kids'll think Santa came early." Molly smirked, folding the map. "And woke up poorer. Let's roll—clown car awaits." Outside, their rusty van sputtered to life, red noses bobbing in the rearview. Chaos awaited.