Run: 2026-05-10-01KR8YNF6PX2HRQAZPC35VC91Y

Molly leaned across the rickety kitchen table, voice low and urgent. "Okay, we go in as entertainment, Bill. You wear the clown costume again. Kids love a dumb clown with a squirting flower. While you're doing balloon animals I wiggle through the back hallway to the garage where the presents are piled. Simple." Bill snorted and shoved another cookie in his mouth. "You realize this is a six-year-old's birthday party, right? There'll be fifty screaming toddlers and parents filming everything on phones. One wrong honk from my nose and the place blows up. And six-year-olds bite." "We need the haul," Molly insisted. "Last month the antique store paid us peanuts. This time it's PlayStations, drones, and gift cards. We fence the cards online, keep the rest for ourselves. Think of it: no more ramen for six months." Bill rubbed his jaw. "What if the mom recognizes me from that PTA thing last year? I told her I was a magician. She'll scream bloody murder and the dads will tackle us both." "You'll have a red nose and rainbow wig," Molly said. "Nobody looks past the makeup. Besides, you'll be inside the bounce house 'checking for structural integrity' while I lift the loot in garbage bags. No one notices a clown hauling trash." Bill tapped the table. "Timing's the problem. Cake cutting happens at three. The moment the sugar hits their bloodstream we move. You block the doorway with the puppet show, I slip upstairs through the laundry room and come back through the garage vent. We each carry two bags max, toss them in the van parked two houses down." Molly jabbed her finger toward him. "No vent. The last time you tried a vent you got stuck and I had to lie that you were practicing yoga for kids. We go in together, blend with the parents. You're the goofy dad, I'm the tired mom with a baby carrier full of empty space. We smile, we wave, we swipe." Bill frowned. "What if a kid catches us opening presents? They'll cry louder than the fire alarm and we'll have thirty adults chasing us down the driveway." "Then we cry louder," Molly answered. "Tell them it was all part of a magic trick. Make them laugh while we run. Works every time with anything smaller than ten." Bill leaned back, arms folded. "And the cameras? House probably has a Ring doorbell pointed right at the side door." "Take it out with silly string," she replied. "Spray first, then bag. We'll be in and out before the video buffers. Trust me, Bill. Worst case they think some loser teen egged them because of the colorful mess." Bill sighed and scraped crumbs into his palm. "Fine, but I'm keeping the squirting flower for cover. If anyone blocks me I water their shoes and run. And you promise we don't touch the birthday cake. Last job I stole a slice and I still feel guilty." Molly grinned and clapped once. "Deal. Tonight we become the worst babysitters in history. We smile, we distract, we disappear with everything wrapped in shiny paper."