Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB80VCP7XTJQNKPBG08VDZ

Molly paced the cramped motel room, her wild red curls bouncing like over-caffeinated squirrels. Bill lounged on the sagging bed, munching on a stale doughnut, his lanky frame sprawled out like a discarded marionette. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, slapping a crumpled blueprint onto the rickety table. "This kids' party at the McMansion is our golden ticket. Presents galore—video games, bikes, those fancy dolls that cost more than my bail last year. We hit it during the piñata smash, when everyone's distracted by flying candy." Bill wiped sugar from his chin and grinned. "Piñata smash? Genius, Mol. But how we getting in? Can't just stroll up like 'Hey, kiddos, we're the fun police here to confiscate your joy.'" Molly smirked, pulling out a bag of clown makeup. "Disguises, you dolt. You're going as Bozo the Clown—big red nose, floppy shoes, the works. I'll be the balloon animal lady. Kids love that crap. We'll blend right in with the hired entertainment." Bill snorted, nearly choking on his doughnut. "Bozo? Mol, I look ridiculous in polka dots. Last time I wore a wig, it caught fire from that botched smoke bomb. And balloon animals? You can barely tie your own shoes without a hitchhiker's knot." "Shut it, that's the charm," Molly shot back, waving a deflated balloon. "Imperfection sells authenticity. Picture this: I twist a giraffe that looks like a deformed snake, the kids laugh, parents tip us extra. Meanwhile, you're juggling presents right into our getaway van parked out back." "Juggling presents? Mol, these arms are for lifting beers, not boxes. What if one drops and it's a fragile unicorn statue? Boom—screaming kids, angry parents, and we're toast." Molly leaned in, eyes gleaming. "That's why we practice, genius. And the van—it's that ice cream truck we 'borrowed' from Uncle Vito. Kids see it, they swarm, creating chaos. We load up while they're begging for popsicles." Bill sat up, rubbing his stubbly chin. "Ice cream truck? Bold. But what about the birthday brat? Little Timmy or whoever—won't he notice his loot vanishing?" "Timmy's five, Bill. We'll leave him a decoy present—a whoopee cushion wrapped in shiny paper. Kid'll think it's the best gift ever. By the time they realize, we're halfway to Pawn City, fencing Barbies for bucks." Bill laughed, clapping his hands. "You're a diabolical mind, Mol. But alarms? Security? That McMansion's got cameras like a paranoid grandma." "Disabled 'em last week," Molly said with a wink. "Posed as the cable guy. One snip, and they're blind. Now, escape route: Through the bouncy castle. We deflate it on the way out, trapping pursuers in rubbery doom." "Deflate the bouncy castle? Mol, that's evil genius! Kids bouncing everywhere, adults flailing—pure pandemonium." "Exactly," Molly grinned, high-fiving him. "We pull this off, we're legends. Thieves of joy, retire to Tahiti on toy money." Bill nodded, eyes wide. "Tahiti? With umbrella drinks? Count me in. But Mol, one thing—what if a kid hugs me? I'm not good with tiny humans." Molly rolled her eyes. "Fake allergies, say you're allergic to affection. Now shut up and practice your clown laugh. We got a heist to pull." As they rehearsed, Bill's honking laughter echoed through the room, a prelude to the chaos ahead.