Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VDY46PZ1CM9XTAQSYDR62

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the van, smoothing out a wrinkle that bisected the bouncy castle. Bill leaned over her shoulder, squinting. "Walk me through it again," Bill said. "And this time, use the code names." "Fine. The target is a six-year-old's birthday party at 47 Maple Drive. The client — that's Tommy's older brother, by the way, who is paying us in a combination of Halloween candy and a gift card to Applebee's — wants every single present removed before they can be opened." "And we're doing this why?" "Because we're professionals, Bill. We don't ask why. We execute. Also I really want that gift card." "Right. What's our window?" "Cake and ice cream starts at two fifteen. Based on my surveillance, which was me sitting in this van with binoculars for three hours yesterday, every child at the party will abandon whatever they're doing and swarm the kitchen like a pack of feral raccoons the moment the candles are lit. That gives us approximately four minutes to enter through the back sliding door, grab every present from the table in the living room, and load them into the van." "Four minutes," Bill repeated. "For what, thirty presents?" "Twenty-six. I counted." "You counted the presents through binoculars?" "I'm thorough." "You're unhinged." "Those are the same thing in this line of work. Now, I need you focused. You're on bag duty." She handed him two large black duffel bags. "I'll hand you the presents, you stuff them in. No sorting, no stacking, just chaos. Speed over elegance." "What about the parents?" "The mom will be in the kitchen managing the cake. The dad — and this is the beautiful part — the dad falls asleep on the couch every single day at two o'clock. Every day, Bill. I've watched him through the window. The man is a metronome of exhaustion." "You've been watching him sleep?" "Surveilling. There's a difference." "There absolutely is not." "Can we stay on task? Now, there's one variable I haven't been able to account for." Molly tapped the map where she had drawn a small figure with what appeared to be horns. "The family dog." "What kind of dog?" "Chihuahua." Bill exhaled sharply. "No. Absolutely not. I'm out." "It's a six-pound dog, Bill." "Those things are demons with legs. Last job I did that involved a chihuahua, I lost a perfectly good pair of pants and most of my dignity." "I bought treats. Premium ones. Bacon flavored." "Bacon won't stop a chihuahua. Nothing stops a chihuahua. They're powered by hatred and spite." "Then move faster. Look, we get in, we grab the presents, we get out. We meet the client behind the Dairy Queen at three o'clock for the exchange. Simple." Bill stared at the map for a long moment, then folded his arms. "I want half the gift card." "Deal." They shook hands over the hood, and Molly started the van.