Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ92YEH0AWTHNAMCTKA34HP

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the rusted van and smoothed out the creases with her palm. The crayon drawings of balloons and a lopsided birthday cake in the corner were not her finest cartographic work, but they got the point across. "So the presents are stacked against the back wall of the garage," she said, tapping a red X with her finger. Bill squinted at the map. "Why is there a drawing of a clown on here?" "For atmosphere." "It's unsettling." "Bill, focus." He leaned closer, pushing his oversized novelty sunglasses up his nose. They were part of his disguise, which he had assembled entirely from a gas station gift rack. "Okay, okay. So we go in through the side gate, cross the yard, and grab the presents before anyone notices. That's the whole plan?" "That's the elegant simplicity of the plan, yes." Bill straightened up and crossed his arms. "And the kids?" "Distracted by the bouncy castle." "And the parents?" "Distracted by the free wine." "And the dog?" Molly paused. "What dog?" "The enormous golden retriever I saw through the fence when I did the scouting run this morning." "You did a scouting run?" "I walked past slowly and looked over the fence." "That's just looking over a fence, Bill." "In context it was reconnaissance." She folded her arms and stared at him for a long moment. A balloon drifted over the fence from the neighboring yard and bobbed between them before floating away into the sky. They both watched it go. "The dog will be fine," Molly said eventually. "It was enormous. I'm talking basically a small horse with opinions." "Dogs love me." "You said that about the Hendersons' terrier and it destroyed your left shoe." "That was a personal disagreement. This will be different." She rolled up the map and tucked it into her jacket. "Now, the timing window is tight. The magician performs at two o'clock and he runs exactly twenty-two minutes. I called his booking agency to confirm." Bill stared at her. "You called his booking agency." "Professionalism costs nothing." "It costs the dignity of whoever has to make that phone call." "During those twenty-two minutes," she continued, ignoring him entirely, "every adult eye in that garden will be on a man pulling scarves out of his own ear. We load the presents into the van, we drive away, and by three o'clock we're splitting the haul at my kitchen table." Bill looked at the fence. He looked at the van. He looked at Molly with the particular expression of a man who had made poor decisions before and recognized the early signs of another one approaching at speed. "These are children's birthday presents," he said. "Valuable children's birthday presents." "That does not improve the sentence." Molly smiled and pulled on her gloves. "It will when we see what's inside them. Now stop talking and open the gate."