Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA4SH67AYZ7KV3X0ZFJF1E

The plastic castle bounced gently in the evening breeze, sagging under the weight of a dozen cartoon dragons. Streamers flapped, balloons bobbed on strings like captured planets, and from behind the hedge came the faint sounds of shrieking children and the desperate laugh of an overpaid magician. Molly lay on her stomach in the damp grass, watching the backyard through a pair of binoculars decorated with glitter stars. “You realize,” she whispered, “we are literally casing a seven-year-old’s birthday party.” Bill adjusted his ski mask, which currently sat rolled like a beanie over his ears. “Crime doesn’t discriminate by age, Molls. Those presents are unguarded consumerism begging for redistribution.” “Redistribution to your apartment.” “Look, I’m not keeping everything,” Bill said. “I’m thinking of donating any educational toys. I’ve grown as a person.” “You sold your niece’s chemistry set for beer money,” Molly said, lowering the binoculars. “And then drank the experiment.” “That was an act of scientific curiosity,” Bill said. “Also, I didn’t know it would foam that much.” The backyard lights flicked on, revealing a long table piled high with brightly wrapped boxes. Some had glittery bows; some were shaped suspiciously like expensive electronics; one was the exact dimensions of a small safe. Molly whistled softly. “That is… that is an obscene amount of wrapping paper.” “Focus,” Bill said. “We go in after the cake, before the piñata.” “Why before the piñata?” “Because chaos,” he said. “You ever seen twenty sugar-hyped kids with sticks? That’s not a heist, that’s a war documentary.” Molly rolled onto her back, staring up at the darkening sky. “Explain the plan one more time. Without the part where I definitely die.” “Fine,” Bill said, ticking points off on his fingers. “Step one: you distract the parents.” “Why is it always me distracting the parents?” “You have an honest face.” “I have a criminal record,” Molly said. “Exactly,” Bill replied. “You’ve learned from your mistakes. That gives you gravitas.” “What kind of distraction are we talking about?” she asked. Bill glanced toward the street. “You’re going to pretend to be the clown.” Molly sat up. “I am not being the clown.” “You already have the shoes.” “These are fashion boots,” she said. “Clowns don’t wear leather.” “Fine, you’re an ironic minimalist clown,” Bill said. “Kids love irony these days.” “Bill, they’re seven.” “Then they’ll grow into the joke,” he said. “Meanwhile, I’m under the gift table, substituting decoy boxes.” Molly blinked. “Decoy boxes.” He held up a cardboard square wrapped in last Christmas’s newspaper comics. “See? Same size, same weight, contains absolutely nothing of value. Just like my last relationship.” “What if someone opens one early?” she asked. “Then a child has an unforgettable lesson in disappointment,” Bill said. “We’re basically doing life coaching.” She eyed the fence, the balloons, the parents clustered around the grill. The scent of hot dogs drifted over, weirdly solemn. “What about security?” “Suburban dad with tongs,” Bill said. “Please. Plus one golden retriever, one overly vigilant grandma, and a magician named Doug whose greatest trick is still paying off his Honda.” “Dog?” Molly said. “You didn’t mention a dog.” “He’s wearing a party hat,” Bill said. “His intimidation factor is limited.” “Dogs don’t need intimidation factor,” she muttered. “They have noses. And teeth. And a moral compass.” He patted her shoulder. “Relax. I brought treats.” “You’re going to bribe the dog.” “I was going to bribe you,” he said, “but you don’t wag your tail as much.” From the backyard came the sound of adults chanting, “Cake! Cake! Cake!” Bill grinned. “That’s our cue. Cake means distraction, distraction means opportunity, opportunity means—” “Jail time,” Molly said. “Presents,” Bill insisted. “Glorious, plastic, battery-operated presents.” She watched a line of kids gather around the table, eyes wide with frosting-lust. “You know we’re terrible people, right?” “Terrible is subjective,” he said. “Think of the parents. Fewer toys, fewer Legos to step on. We’re heroes.” “Unsung heroes,” Molly said. He rose to a crouch. “Fine. Sing later. For now, clown up and follow my lead.”