Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WP6K4QGN67W3XQ3267540

Molly spread the hand-drawn blueprint across the hood of their dented minivan, smoothing the crayon-wrinkled edges with the seriousness of a four-star general. Bill leaned in, squinting at what appeared to be a lopsided house surrounded by stick figures and a disturbing number of balloons. "Where did you get this?" Bill asked, tilting his head as though a different angle might make the drawing less terrible. "Samantha Perkins. Age six. Told her I was from the balloon inspection bureau." Molly tapped a purple blob near the bottom of the page. "This is the bouncy castle. That's our way in." Bill stared at her. He had been staring at her like this for the better part of three years, ever since she'd convinced him to rob a lemonade stand in Tucson, which had netted them fourteen dollars and a pitcher of what turned out to be mostly sugar water. He kept telling himself he'd find a better partner. He kept not doing it. "You want to break in through a bouncy castle," he said flatly. "Over it, technically. We vault the fence and use it as a landing pad." She mimed the motion with her hands, complete with a little tumbling flourish at the end. The afternoon sun beat down on the parking lot of the craft store where they'd been camped out for an hour. Inside, responsible adults were buying streamers and tissue paper for parties they had been invited to. Bill envied them deeply. "And the presents?" he asked. "Stacked on a folding table next to the refreshments. Twenty kids means twenty presents. We're talking Legos, remote-control cars, maybe even a tablet if the rich grandparents come through." Bill rubbed his temples. A headache was forming in the exact shape of his poor life decisions. He looked at the blueprint again. Samantha Perkins had drawn the sun with a smiley face. It seemed to be judging him. "What about the parents?" he said. "I've hired a rogue clown to show up at the same time we do. Not a party clown. Just a clown. He wanders into the yard looking confused, and every adult immediately panics because nothing unsettles a suburban parent like an unaccounted-for clown." "That's genuinely unsettling." "Thank you." Molly folded the blueprint with surgical precision and tucked it into her fanny pack. She pulled out two black ski masks and handed one to Bill. He held it up and noticed it had been embroidered with tiny daisies along the eye holes. "My grandmother made those," Molly said, almost tenderly. "She thinks we're going skiing." Bill pulled the mask over his face. The daisies smelled like lavender. Somewhere across town, a bouncy castle was being inflated, and twenty beautifully wrapped presents sat waiting on a folding table like little rectangular hostages. He started the minivan. "Let's go rob some children," he said, and pulled out of the parking lot with the grim resolve of a man who had simply stopped asking why.