Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8TSAZV7NPY1B224WP0MPC7

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the van, smoothing out the crayon marks with her palm. She had lifted it from the birthday boy's backpack two days earlier, and it was, without question, the worst piece of intelligence she had ever worked from. "Is that a dog or a security guard?" Bill asked, pointing at a brown blob near what appeared to be the front door. "It's a pony," Molly said. "They hired a pony for rides. Which actually works in our favor because every kid at that party is going to be in the backyard losing their minds over it." Bill rubbed his chin and nodded slowly, as though she had just outlined the invasion of Normandy. He was wearing all black, which would have been more appropriate if the job were happening at midnight instead of two in the afternoon. "So we go in the front while the pony creates a diversion," he said. "The pony isn't creating a diversion. The pony is just being a pony. We're exploiting the natural gravitational pull of a pony on children under ten." "Right. And the presents?" "They'll be on a table in the living room. Every parent drops them off inside because nobody wants cake frosting on wrapped gifts. I confirmed this with three separate mothers at school pickup. They thought I was making conversation." "You're a genius," Bill said. "I know. Now the tricky part is the grandmother. She stays inside during parties because the noise gives her a headache. She parks herself on the couch with a glass of wine and watches game shows." Bill's eyes went wide. "There's a grandmother? You didn't mention a grandmother." "I'm mentioning her now. She's seventy-four, partially deaf, and on her second glass of merlot by one o'clock. She is not a threat." "Grandmothers are always a threat, Molly. My grandmother once chased a raccoon out of her garage with a tennis racket." "Was the raccoon trying to steal a pile of presents wrapped in Paw Patrol paper?" "No, but the principle stands." Molly folded the map and tucked it into her jacket. She checked her watch and then looked at Bill with the steady, humorless expression she always wore before a job, which was unfortunate because she had the face of a kindergarten teacher and it didn't land the way she wanted it to. "We walk in carrying a large gift bag. Nobody questions someone arriving at a children's party with a gift. We load the presents into the bag, walk out, and drive away. Total time inside, four minutes." "What's in the gift bag when we walk in?" "A smaller, folded gift bag. For overflow." Bill stared at her. "That's actually brilliant." "Stop sounding surprised. Now put on a normal shirt. You look like you're about to rob a bank." "We are robbing something." "We're robbing children, Bill. There's a dress code. Look approachable." He sighed and climbed into the van to change.