Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAV49X0XBWQ6DNHRV4S6QJ

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, blueprints of the upscale suburban house spread out like a treasure map. The air smelled of stale coffee and unwashed socks. Bill paced back and forth, his lanky frame casting jittery shadows from the flickering bulb overhead. Outside, the distant squeals of kids at a birthday party echoed faintly—practice for the real score tomorrow. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the diagram. "The party's at the McMansion on Elm Street. Rich folks, clown, piñata, the works. We hit 'em at peak chaos—right when the cake's cut and the rugrats are elbow-deep in frosting." Bill stopped pacing and leaned in, his eyebrows knitting together like confused caterpillars. "Chaos is good. But kids, Molly? They're like tiny landmines. What if one latches onto my leg? I ain't built for twenty questions from a snot-nosed detective." Molly snorted, tracing the backyard fence with a greasy pen. "That's why we're going in through the side gate, dressed as party crashers. I'll be the balloon lady—big hat, squeaky shoes. You'll be the face painter. 'Hey kid, want a skull on your cheek?' Instant camouflage." Bill chuckled, but it turned into a wheeze. "Face painter? Me? Last time I drew on something, it was your ex's car with a Sharpie. And balloons? What if they pop and alert the birthday Gestapo?" "Exactly," Molly replied, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Distraction. We inflate a dozen, tie 'em to the gift table. While the parents chase floating hazards, we scoop the presents—Xbox, bikes, that drone everyone's yapping about. Stuff 'em in duffel bags under the balloon strings. Out in five minutes flat." Bill rubbed his chin, nodding slowly. "Sneaky. But the clown? That guy's got honking shoes and a red nose bigger than my ego. What if he spots us mid-heist?" Molly grinned, pulling a fake mustache from her pocket. "We bribe him with cake. Or worse—threaten to tell the kids he's not real. Clowns hate that. Nah, seriously, we time it for when he's inside the bounce house, buried under screaming toddlers." Bill's face lit up. "Bounce house! Genius. I could sabotage it—cut a corner loose, send the whole thing rolling into the street. Presents are ours while they're rescuing Junior from traffic." "Too risky," Molly shot back, shaking her head. "We want clean getaway, not a lawsuit parade. Vans parked two blocks away, engine running. I grab the shiny stuff; you handle the bulky. Split fifty-fifty after we fence it downtown." Bill paused, glancing at the blueprints. "What about the dog? Blueprints show a yappy mutt." "Peanut butter on the fence," Molly said triumphantly. "Licks himself silly while we raid. Piece of cake—er, piñata." Bill clapped his hands, laughing. "You're a criminal mastermind, Mol. This'll be the easiest score since that bakery job. No guns, no guards—just glitter and greed." Molly rolled up the plans, her smile wicked. "Tomorrow, we turn a kiddie bash into our payday. Just don't trip over a teddy bear on the way out." As Bill high-fived her, the distant party music swelled, a siren call to their absurd adventure.