Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0803A0HH2QNYTCESQM39J1

The motel room smelled like old socks and regret, the flickering neon sign outside casting a pinkish glow over the blueprint of the Langley residence sprawled across the bed. Molly paced like a caged tiger, her fingers tapping against her thigh while Bill lounged on the mattress, flipping through a dog-eared magazine titled *Exotic Birds Monthly*. "You’re gonna wear a hole in that carpet," Bill commented without looking up. "Either that or you’re practicing for a very intense game of hopscotch." Molly stopped mid-stride and fixed him with a glare. "Alright, listen up. This is our big score. A children's party, packed with loot. We hit it, we're set for life." Bill tossed the magazine aside and sat up, suddenly interested. "Kids' parties are always overrated. All that screaming, the sugar rush, the running around like maniacs. Sounds like my kind of chaos." "Our chaos," Molly corrected. "And not the part where we have to wear a Mickey Mouse costume in the process." "Hey, I rocked that costume in Vegas," Bill said, puffing out his chest. "Still got the photos to prove it." "That was a bar mitzvah, and you got caught because you tried to steal the Torah." "In my defense, it was a really nice Torah." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Focus, Bill. We’re breaking into a house full of five-year-olds. The presents under the tree are our targets." Bill grinned. "So we do what we do best—we distract, we grab, we go." "Not so fast, Ocean’s 11," Molly said, tapping the blueprint. "This isn’t some high-end casino. It’s a five-year-old’s birthday party with balloons and a piñata." Bill scratched his chin. "Which means there will be alcohol. I see a pony." "The pony is not part of the plan," Molly snapped. "The pony is a distraction we cannot afford." "Fine, no pony. But I call dibs on the beer pong table." "There is no beer pong table, Bill. But there are at least twenty presents, all under the tree in the living room." "We go in as clowns," Bill declared. "Kids love clowns." Molly’s eye began to twitch. "No clowns. Last time I dressed as a clown, I was questioned by the FBI." "That was not my fault," Bill protested. "How was I supposed to know that clown convention was a front for something sinister?" "It was a clown convention." "Exactly." Molly took a deep breath. "So, what’s the play? We go in at what, three? The sugar crash will have all the parents napping." "The party’s from two to four," Molly said. "We go in at two-thirty. Catch ‘em right when the cake comes out. Maximum chaos, maximum confusion." Bill rubbed his hands together. "And if we get caught?" "We don’t get caught," Molly said firmly. "But if we do, we’re just caterers who got turned around. We play dumb." "What if they call the cops?" "Then we run. And we leave the cupcakes." Bill gasped as if she’d suggested burning down the house. "Betrayal." "It’s just dessert, Bill." "Cupcakes are a lifestyle." Molly grabbed the blueprint and rolled it up with more force than necessary. "We go in as caterers. Simple, clean, professional. We bring a serving tray and act like we belong." Bill eyed the apron she tossed at him. "And this?" "That’s your costume. Add the clipboard. It’s for authority." "A clipboard?" Bill held it like it was made of gold. "This is my new dream job." Molly pointed to the floor plan. "We go in through the back gate—it’s unlocked. The presents are in the living room, under the tree. The back door’s alarmed, so we wait until someone opens the front door, then we slip in behind them." Bill nodded sagely. "Or we just tell them we’re the plumber." "There are no plumbing issues," Molly said through gritted teeth. "Anticipate the issues," Bill countered. "That’s how you stay ahead." Molly ignored him. "We go in at two-thirty. You handle the kids, I handle the presents. We meet back at the van in ten minutes, max." Bill frowned. "Van’s gonna draw attention." "It’s a white van," Molly said. "Very nondescript." "It has flames painted on the side." "That was one time." Bill crossed his arms. "It makes us look like we’re smuggling illicit burritos." Molly sighed. "We’re stealing children’s presents to resell on the black market. Illicit burritos would be an improvement." "So," Bill said, "we’re clear on the plan?" "Clear as mud," Molly replied. "But I’ve got the apron, the clipboard, and my winning personality. What more do you need?" "A miracle." Bill grinned. "I’ve been told I’m miracle-adjacent."