Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB96V260J8ZKY264A7N35M

The grease-stained Formica table of Dot’s Diner stuck to Molly’s elbow as she slammed a crumpled children’s party flyer between her and Bill. He picked at a congealed pancake with a broken plastic fork, his scuffed work boots propped on the adjacent chair. A half-empty coffee pot gurgled in the corner, and the diner’s jukebox blared a tinny children’s song that made Bill wince. Molly’s leather gloves slung over the table bore tiny scribbles of her night-drafted party layout—present table coordinates, clown’s break schedule, pantry escape route. “You see the present pile note? The mom’s bragging about a diamond tiara for the birthday girl’s dress-up box.” “A tiara? Kids don’t know diamonds from candy necklaces. Why not just steal the candy necklaces?” The flyer’s neon pink letters advertised “Lila’s 7th Birthday Bash—Princess Theme!” with a Molly-scrawled circle around “luxury dress-up gifts.” Bill’s eyes darted to the door every few seconds, fearing a cop’s sudden arrival. “Because the tiara’s worth three months of rent, you fool. The other presents are just bonus—designer dolls, vintage toy trains.” “But kids’ parties have clowns. Clowns are creepy. What if the clown catches us?” Molly sighed, tapping her pen against the layout, frustrated by Bill’s overthinking. The waitress dropped a refilled coffee cup in front of Bill, who jumped, knocking over his pancake plate and scattering crumbs. “The clown’s a teen making minimum wage. I’ll slip him a five to take a 10-minute smoke break. Problem solved.” “What about the pinata? I hate pinatas. They explode without warning. Could give away our position.” Molly leaned in, her voice low to avoid overhearing, as a group of teens laughed at a nearby booth. She gestured to the layout’s pantry mark, emphasizing the hidden escape route. “I’ve mapped the party layout. The pinata’s in the backyard—we’ll avoid it. The present table’s by the kitchen pantry, hidden from the main room.” “But what if a kid tugs my sleeve? I don’t do well with crying kids. Last time I made a kid cry, I bought her a lollipop and blew our heist.” Bill’s face flushed as he remembered the bakery heist, where his lollipop detour had led to a cop’s arrival. Molly rolled her eyes, adjusting her gloves to emphasize her resolve. “Then don’t let a kid tug your sleeve. Wear a party hat, pretend you’re the mom’s cousin. I’ll be the caterer’s assistant—we’ll blend in.” “Caterer’s assistant? I can’t carry a tray without dropping it. Remember the bakery heist? I dropped a croissant and set off a smoke alarm.” Molly tapped the layout’s present table mark, noting the kitchen’s low foot traffic. She grabbed a napkin to scribble a last-minute timeline adjustment, her pen scratching against the paper. “Then you’ll carry the present bag. It’s a duffel—big enough for all the goods. You just have to grab and go when I give the signal.” “What’s the signal? A whistle? A secret handshake? I forget secret handshakes. Last time I forgot, we ran in opposite directions.” Molly wiped it away quickly, ensuring the timeline remained legible before folding the paper into her leather glove pocket. She glanced at the diner’s clock, noting they had two hours to gather their party hats and duffel bag, her jaw tight with the certainty of a successful heist despite Bill’s bumbling worries. The teens at the nearby booth left, leaving the diner quieter, making it easier to finalize their last details without interruption. She also grabbed an extra napkin to jot down the clown’s break time again, double-checking the 10-minute window. “The signal’s me dropping a plastic cup. Simple. Now stop complaining and memorize the timeline—party starts at 2, we arrive at 2:30, heist at 3.”