Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WR00Y0XTMQARF0AYT8VM3

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the minivan, smoothing out the crayon marks with her thumb. Bill leaned over her shoulder, squinting through his ski mask, which he had already put on despite the fact that the party was not until Saturday. "Take that off," Molly said. "It's Tuesday. You look like you're about to rob a gas station." "I'm getting into character," Bill said. He pulled the mask up so it sat on his head like a beanie. "Now walk me through the layout again." Molly tapped the map with a pen. The blueprint had been drawn by her seven-year-old nephew, which meant the kitchen was roughly the size of a football field and the bathroom appeared to be located inside of a tree. Still, it was the best intelligence they had. "The presents will be stacked on a table in the living room, here," she said, circling a lumpy rectangle near something labeled COUCH OR DOG. "The party starts at two. By two fifteen every child in there will be completely deranged on sugar. That's our window." Bill folded his arms and nodded slowly, the way he always did when he was pretending to understand something. "And the parents?" "Exhausted. Defeated. Emotionally absent," Molly said. "They won't notice a thing. We go in through the back door, grab the presents, and load them into the van. Ninety seconds, tops." "What about the birthday boy?" Bill asked. "Kids are perceptive, Molly. They notice stuff. Last week my neighbor's kid told me I had the posture of a shrimp." "He's turning six. He'll be face-deep in cake," Molly said. "Besides, I've arranged a distraction. I hired a clown." Bill's face went pale. "A clown?" "Don't start," Molly said. "You know how I feel about clowns," Bill said, his voice rising to a pitch usually reserved for tea kettles. "You promised after the Cincinnati job that there would be no more clowns." Molly sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. The Cincinnati job had been a disaster for reasons entirely unrelated to the clown, but Bill had fixated on it like a dog with a grudge. "The clown will be in the front yard," she said. "You will be in the back of the house. At no point will you and the clown occupy the same space. I have drawn a diagram." She produced a second piece of paper from her jacket. Bill studied the diagram. It was considerably more professional than the map. "Fine," he said. "But if that clown so much as honks a horn in my direction, I'm out." "Noted," Molly said. She rolled up both documents and tucked them under her arm. "Now, we need to talk about the getaway vehicle. I'm thinking we ditch the minivan and use something less conspicuous." Bill looked at the minivan. It had a bumper sticker that read MY OTHER CAR IS ALSO STOLEN. "What did you have in mind?" he asked. Molly grinned. "Ice cream truck."