Run: 2026-03-03-01KJV0K28WF1YBH5AFAMQ1V8CQ

The overgrown rhododendron bushes scrunching under Molly’s boots smelled like fermented berry juice and regret—regret both of them harbored for ditching their bike rack flipping side hustle to pull this off. She’d cased the cul-de-sac for three straight nights, noting the birthday mom’s habit of stepping inside every 12 minutes to wipe a crying baby’s face, and the bounce house attendant’s obsession with scrolling TikTok instead of watching the kids. Bill’s last heist had involved trying to steal a garden gnome, only to get stuck in its rose bush for 45 minutes while the homeowner took photos for the neighborhood Facebook group. Across the cul-de-sac, a lopsided neon pink bounce house bleated faint static in the wind, and the wail of a toddler whose piñata was stuffed with pretzels instead of candy drifted over the white picket fence. A frazzled mom in a sparkly birthday sash refilled a lemonade bowl at the picnic table, where a stack of wrapped presents glinted under oak tree shade. “That’s the target. No security save that frazzled mom and a bunch of sugar-crazed seven-year-olds who’ll mistake us for Claw the Clown if we move too slow,” Molly said, nudging Bill’s elbow. Bill fumbled with his overstuffed fanny pack, spilling neon party horns and a tube of glitter glue onto the pine needles. “I brought glitter glue to disable the toddlers! Glue their shoes to the ground so they can’t chase us.” Molly snickered, swatting the glue away. “You brought spray cheese instead of a lockpick, forgot the crowbar, and thought toddler glue is a valid heist tactic? Great.” “Well, the spray cheese was supposed to be a snack bribe!” Bill protested, holding up the bright orange can like it was a tactical flashbang. “This is your disguise,” Molly said, yanking a deflated giant crayon costume from their $15 Facebook Marketplace score. She stretched it over Bill’s head, where it caught on his wire-rimmed glasses and left a streak of green glitter across one lens. “Walk right up, grab three presents, and bolt before anyone notices we’re not on the party payroll.” “What if the bounce house attendant sees us? He’s been staring at the bushes for ten minutes!” Bill yelped, stumbling back as the costume’s giant tip whacked a low-hanging branch. “He thinks we’re weirdos hiding here, which is the truth,” Molly said, waving wildly at a group of kids pointing toward them. “I’ll handle the distraction. Just grab the gifts and don’t trip over the potato salad bowl this time.” Bill shouldered a dented canvas bag and crept toward the sidewalk, where a five-year-old shrieked and pointed. He darted for the picnic table, snatching three wrapped gifts at once, his costume flopping as he ran. He tripped over a bench leg, sending a bowl of potato salad splattering into the bounce house, where kids cheered, mistaking it for a new game. By the time he hauled the presents back to the bushes, his fanny pack was crammed with extra ribbon and a stray cherry lollipop he’d swiped from a gift bag. “That… actually worked?” he panted, holding out the lollipop to Molly. She took it, popping it into her mouth, and nodded at the dwindling stack of gifts left on the table. “Next time, we stick to bike racks. And leave the spray cheese at home.”