Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ9308CE969A9KFNAPJCCEQ

The rain hammered against the windshield of Bill's rusted Pontiac, which was parked conspicuously across the street from 14 Birchwood Lane. Inside, a child's birthday party was apparently in full swing, evidenced by the sound of shrieking seven-year-olds that somehow penetrated two hundred feet of soggy suburban air. Balloons in aggressive primary colors bobbed against the living room window like they were taunting the two criminals hunched over a hand-drawn map in the front seat. Molly pressed her finger against the paper. "The presents will be stacked near the fireplace. They always stack them near the fireplace." Bill squinted at her drawing, which looked less like a floor plan and more like a spider having a breakdown. "How do you know where they stack the presents?" "I was a child once, Bill." He considered arguing this point but decided against it. The plan, such as it was, involved waiting until the entertainer arrived. Molly had done her research, which meant she had driven past the house twice and read the invitation she'd stolen from the neighbor's recycling bin. A magician named The Spectacular Gerald was scheduled to perform at two o'clock, creating what Molly called a distraction window and what any reasonable person would call a man pulling scarves from his pocket while children screamed. Bill rubbed his jaw. "What if the dog is still in the yard?" "It's a Pomeranian named Cupcake." "Cupcakes can be vicious." Molly lowered her sunglasses to look at him directly, which was difficult since she was already wearing them inside a car on an overcast afternoon for reasons she had never satisfactorily explained. She pushed them back up without saying anything, which somehow communicated everything. They sat in silence watching a clown-themed delivery van pull up, which was either The Spectacular Gerald or the universe making things significantly worse. A small man in a purple vest climbed out carrying a suitcase that rattled ominously. Children immediately materialized at the window, pressing their faces against the glass like little flesh balloons of their own. This was the moment. Molly cracked her knuckles with great ceremony. Bill pulled his beanie down over his ears, which did nothing for his disguise but made him feel more criminal. They had rehearsed the extraction twice in Molly's kitchen using throw pillows as gifts, and both rehearsals had ended with Bill tripping over the cat. "You remember the signal?" Molly asked. "You whistle." "I whistle twice." "Right, twice." "The first whistle means I see someone coming. The second whistle means run." Bill nodded seriously. "What if you whistle once?" "Then I'm just whistling." They climbed out of the Pontiac with the quiet dignity of two people who had made genuinely poor life choices but remained deeply committed to them. The rain had softened to a mist. Somewhere inside the house, The Spectacular Gerald was already disappointing people. It was, by any professional measure, the perfect moment.