Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VWNMBTBCKCNFB8YEWBFZV

Molly spread the hand-drawn blueprint across the hood of the van, weighing down one corner with a half-eaten burrito and the other with a walkie-talkie that hadn't worked since 2011. The blueprint was done in crayon. She had stolen it from a child, which she considered a warm-up exercise. "Alright, Bill, listen up. The party starts at two. We've got a forty-five-minute window between the arrival of the bounce house and the arrival of the clown." Bill squinted at the blueprint. "Why is everything drawn in orange?" "Because the kid only had one crayon, Bill. Focus. The presents will be staged here, on a folding table near the back patio. We go in through the side gate, grab the loot, and we're out before anyone notices." "What kind of presents are we talking about?" Bill asked, cracking his knuckles with the seriousness of a man preparing to defuse a bomb. "The kid's turning seven. So we're looking at Legos, action figures, maybe a bike if we're lucky. One year I hit a party and got a karaoke machine. Flipped it for forty bucks." "Forty bucks," Bill repeated, his eyes glistening like she had said forty thousand. Molly tapped the blueprint with authority. "Now, the biggest threat is the mother. Name's Dana. She runs the PTA like a paramilitary operation. If she spots us, she will ask us to help set up chairs, and we will never escape." "Can't we just say no?" "You've never met a PTA mom, have you? They don't accept no. They don't even hear no. The word doesn't exist in their vocabulary. You say no and they hand you a bag of streamers and suddenly you're three hours deep into decorating a paper-mâché unicorn." Bill shuddered. He had once been trapped at a bake sale and still bore the emotional scars. "So what's our cover?" he asked. "We're balloon artists. I bought us matching polo shirts." She pulled two purple shirts from the back seat. Each one read Gary's Balloon Bonanza in peeling iron-on letters. "Who's Gary?" "There is no Gary. Gary is a fabrication. Gary is the ghost we hide behind, Bill." He held up the polo shirt and frowned at a mustard stain on the collar. This was not the criminal empire he had envisioned when he dropped out of night school, but rent was rent. Molly rolled up the blueprint and shoved it into her fanny pack with the confidence of a general preparing for invasion. She checked her watch, adjusted her sunglasses, and pointed at the minivan across the street, where a woman was already unloading trays of cupcakes and barking orders into a phone. "There she is. That's Dana. Look at her, Bill. Organized. Ruthless. Probably has a spreadsheet for the goody bags." "She terrifies me," Bill whispered. "Good. Use that fear. Channel it. Now get in the van and put on your polo. We've got presents to liberate." Bill climbed in and silently prayed the Legos would be worth it.