Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ01AHE1MM2FH3C8XJFCXEVE

Molly jabbed a finger at the blueprint spread across their van’s hood, her breath fogging in the chill night air. “Operation Teddy Bear Smash begins in fifteen. You got the distraction?” Bill sighed, adjusting his sequined fanny pack. “A hired clown named Bubbles. He’ll perform a ‘special juggling act’ involving rubber chickens near the bounce house. It’s degrading.” “Perfect. Degrading is memorable. I’ll be disguised as a balloon artist.” Molly popped the trunk, revealing two hideous, giant balloon animals—a green poodle and a purple giraffe. “Your cover is a parent. Here’s your ‘child’.” She shoved the purple giraffe at him. “Meet Gerald. He’s shy, so he won’t talk to anyone.” Bill looked at Gerald’s vacant, puffy head. “He has the same lifeless stare as my first partner, Gary. I feel a bond.” He took it, its neck wobbling. “What’s the loot haul?” “Per the invite list: twenty-two kids. Assuming two presents each, average value fifty bucks, that’s twenty-two hundred. Not bad for a Saturday.” Molly strapped a holster holding a glue gun onto her thigh. “We’re not monsters. We leave a note. ‘From the Grinch of Gift-Getting.’ It’s on brand.” “My brand is being in bed by nine with a warm cup of regret,” Bill muttered, checking his watch. “This is insanity, Moll. It’s a five-year-old’s superhero party. There will be cake. And screaming.” “Which is why the security is nonexistent.” She tapped the blueprint. “The gift pile is in the living room, by the fireplace. Classic amateur hour. We enter through the sunroom, blend during the cake chaos, swipe the presents into these.” She held up two large, empty duffel bags decorated with cartoon dinosaurs. “See? Child-friendly. Then we slip out via the back gate. Simple.” “And if some kid catches us?” Bill asked, watching her inflate the green poodle with a furious squeak. “We improvise. Tell them we’re testing a new toy-saving charity.” The poodle’s head inflated to grotesque proportions. “Or we run. We’re faster than toddlers. Probably.” Bill peered at her. “Probably?” “Seventy percent chance.” Molly tied off the poodle’s tail. “Look, the hostess, Mrs. Henderson, is notorious. She makes guests remove their shoes AND socks. We’re doing a public service. Let’s move.” They shuffled up the sidewalk, the absurd balloons leading the way, the faint sound of a clown’s honking horn already drifting from the backyard. “Remember,” Molly whispered as they approached the sunroom door, “walk with purpose. Parents are always frazzled. You are a frazzled parent of an inflatable giraffe. Act natural.” Bill tried to look frazzled, mostly just looking constipated. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” “You believed in the Christmas Caroling Capers,” she said, pulling the door open. “And we ended up singing ‘Jingle Bells’ in a jail cell for eight hours.” “Still counts as a success. We raised that bail money ourselves.” Molly slipped inside. “Stay close to Gerald. And for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t step on the presents. The noise will bring them all down on us.”