Run: 2026-03-12-01KKHZ6TDYV1HACS3PD7WMXAYX

Molly adjusted her ridiculous party hat and glared across the sticky kitchen table at Bill. “This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, and you once suggested we rob a funeral.” Bill grinned around a mouthful of stolen birthday cake. “Exactly. Nobody expects the clown-shaped criminals. We hit little Timmy’s seventh birthday bash at three o’clock sharp. In and out before the ice cream melts.” “We’re robbing toddlers, Bill. Toddlers.” “Toddlers with excellent taste in presents. You saw the registry. That kid registered for a drone, a Switch, and something called a ‘Super Squishy Unicorn Throne.’ We’re talking resale value, Mol.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “How exactly do we blend in? You’re six-foot-four and look like a parole officer who lost a fight with a tattoo gun.” “I’ll be the magician. Cape, top hat, the works. I’ll make the birthday boy’s watch disappear—permanently. You’ll be my lovely assistant.” “I’m not wearing the sparkly leotard.” “You’ll wear the sparkly leotard. It’s non-negotiable. Also, I already bought it. It’s pink. With stars.” Molly stared at him for a long moment. “I hate you.” “You love me. Focus. We enter through the bouncy castle. I’ve mapped the airflow. If we crawl underneath while the kids are distracted by the piñata, we pop up behind the gift table like we belong.” “Like we belong,” Molly repeated flatly. “Two grown adults emerging from a bouncy castle like sweaty moles. Brilliant.” Bill waved his fork. “I’ve got a smoke bomb shaped like a whoopee cushion. When Mom starts cutting the cake, I trigger it. Total chaos. You grab the big boxes while I charm the grandparents. Old people love me. I’ve got references.” “You have a rap sheet, not references.” “Semantics. Look, we load the presents into the fake ambulance I parked two streets over. Then we peel out to the sounds of confused parents and one very angry bouncy-castle attendant.” Molly leaned forward. “What if the kid cries? I can’t handle it if the kid cries, Bill. I have a reputation.” “Which kid? There’s like thirty of them. They cry at the drop of a hat anyway. We’ll give him a balloon animal on the way out. I’m learning balloon animals, by the way. I can make a giraffe that looks like a sausage.” Molly rubbed her temples. “We’re going to hell.” “Probably, but first we’re going to a six-year-old’s backyard with a table full of untraceable electronics and collectible stuffed animals. Think of the fence, Mol. Think of the money. Think of the look on Detective Ramirez’s face when he realizes the Children’s Party Bandit struck again.” Molly was quiet for a second, then sighed. “Fine. But I’m not wearing the leotard. I’ll be the disgruntled face-painter. And if anyone asks, your name is Professor Fizzywinks and you’re my emotionally unstable brother.” Bill clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit! Professor Fizzywinks and his emotionally unstable sister. This is going to be legendary.” Molly stood up and pointed at him. “If I hear one single ‘happy birthday’ joke while we’re committing felony theft, I will shoot you with your own water-squirting flower.” “Fair enough,” Bill said, already reaching for another slice of cake. “Now help me practice my disappearing coin trick. The toddlers are gonna love this.”