Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VNAV7JWT49M1YMF1HHGBN

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the van, smoothing the crayon wrinkles with her palm. Someone had drawn a dinosaur in the corner. She turned the map sideways and squinted. "Okay, so the bouncy castle is here," she said, tapping a purple blob. "That's our primary obstacle." Bill leaned over her shoulder and frowned. "That's a dog." "It's not a dog, Bill. I did recon. I sat on a bench across the street for two hours with binoculars." "That must have looked completely normal." "The point is," Molly continued, ignoring him, "the presents are being kept in the garage. The mother started stacking them there around noon. We're talking a significant haul. I counted at least thirty wrapped boxes." Bill pulled a celery stick from his jacket pocket and bit into it thoughtfully. He always ate celery when he was thinking. It was one of the many things about him that Molly found deeply irritating. "What kind of security are we dealing with?" he asked. "One father. He's on grill duty, so he'll be distracted by hot dogs. One mother, but she's running the show, so she'll be everywhere. That's a problem. We also have a grandmother who appears to be stationary near the gift table, but I believe she's asleep." "What about the kids?" Molly hesitated. She pulled a second sheet of paper from her pocket. This one had been folded into something that might have once been an airplane. "There are fourteen children confirmed. Ages five through eight. They are chaotic, unpredictable, and hopped up on sheet cake. We do not engage." Bill crunched his celery. "I once saw a five-year-old bite through a leather wallet." "Exactly. We avoid them entirely. Now here's the plan. At precisely three fifteen, the magician arrives." "There's a magician?" "There's always a magician, Bill. Every child within a fifty-foot radius will be drawn to the backyard. That gives us a window of approximately twelve minutes to access the garage through the side door, load the presents into the van, and disappear." Bill stared at the map for a long time. A bird landed on the van's side mirror and watched them both with what felt like judgment. "Molly, these are children's presents," he said slowly. "We're going to end up with a van full of Legos and craft kits." "Last year the Henderson kid got a PlayStation." Bill straightened up immediately. "What time did you say the magician arrives?" "Three fifteen. Sharp." "And the grandmother. You're sure she's asleep?" "She hasn't moved in four hours, Bill. She's either asleep or something much worse, and either way she's not a factor." Bill tossed the celery stick into a bush and cracked his knuckles with the gravity of a man preparing for the job of a lifetime. Molly folded the map and tucked it inside her jacket. "One more thing," Bill said. "If a kid sees us, what's the exit strategy?" Molly opened the van door and smiled. "We run."