Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5RQHD5MGRMRFDGK85GA0P

The air in the dusty van was thick with the smell of cold coffee and desperation. Molly tapped a manicured nail against a grainy photograph of a suburban house, her expression one of profound offense. “A bouncy castle, Bill. They’ve got a full-scale, inflatable, garish-yellow bouncy castle. This isn’t a heist; it’s a moral failing.” Bill, peering through a pair of binoculars with one lens cracked, didn’t lower them. “It’s strategic. High-decibel frivolity provides excellent audio cover. You could fire a cannon in there and they’d just think little Timmy finally discovered sugar.” “Our getaway vehicle is a dented ice cream van you ‘acquired’,” Molly said, making air quotes he couldn’t see. “We’re going to be fleeing the scene of a felony at four miles per hour while *Pop Goes the Weasel* plays. It’s not a plan, it’s a cry for help.” “It’s a disguise! Who suspects the ice cream man? Besides, the real ice cream man is currently taking a very long nap in a hedge two blocks over. He was very understanding after I explained the socio-economic necessity of our operation.” Molly snatched the binoculars from him. “Let’s review the plan, since you seem to think ‘winging it’ is a viable tactic. Go on.” Bill puffed out his chest. “Right. Phase One: Infiltration. I enter disguised as the caterer. Specifically, the magician. ‘Marvelous Marvin’.” “Your only magic trick is making wallets disappear, and you’re not very marvelous at that. You got stage fright and vomited at your cousin’s Bar Mitzvah.” “A calculated bit of misdirection!” he insisted. “While I’m ‘entertaining’ the tiny, sticky overlords, you, using the stolen keycode from the dog-walker we mildly intimidated—” “You offered him a complimentary shoe-shine. It was weird, Bill.” “—you will enter through the garage, locate the presents, and load the prime loot into the oversized dessert trolley.” He gestured to a wobbly cart stacked with empty trays. Molly stared at him. “And the ‘Alsatian Laser Tripwire’ you mentioned? The one you said was ‘state-of-the-art’?” Bill reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a complicated mess of wires, a laser pointer, and a squeaky dog toy. “This! It’s genius. You cross the beam, it triggers a pressure sensor, and this toy squeaks. It’s a deterrent. A very, very quiet one.” “So the security system is a perplexed Labrador?” Molly deadpanned. “Bill, the only thing you’re going to steal is my will to live. These are children’s presents. We’re talking developmental toys and probably a lot of socks.” Bill’s face fell into a look of utter seriousness. “Socks have a surprisingly high resale value in the right circles. Look, Molly, this is a target of opportunity. Low security, high emotional distraction. It’s the perfect score. We’ll be in and out before they even cut the cake.” “And the contingency for the clown?” “What clown?” Molly pointed a sharp nail at the photo. A car had just pulled up, and a figure in full rainbow wig and red nose was getting out, honking a horn gently against the steering wheel. Bill’s confidence evaporated. “Oh. The clown. Right. New plan. We abort. We abort the entire mission.” “Why? I thought you loved improvisation.” “I have a very specific and entirely rational phobia of clowns,” Bill whispered, his eyes wide with terror. “It’s the big shoes. You can’t trust a man in shoes that big. What are they hiding in there?” Molly sighed, started the ice cream van’s engine, and *Pop Goes the Weasel* began its tinny, mournful dirge. “We’re not stealing from children, Bill. We’re going to get coffee. And you’re paying. Consider it restitution for the napping ice cream man.”