Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WYWD21FY20JPCNJS7W2KM

Molly spread the hand-drawn blueprint across the hood of their dented minivan, weighing down the corners with a juice box and a handful of loose Cheerios. The blueprint was, in fairness, drawn on the back of a Denny's placemat, but she'd used two different colored crayons, which she felt lent the whole operation a professional edge. The afternoon sun beat down on the strip mall parking lot where they'd agreed to meet, casting harsh shadows from a nearby shopping cart corral. "The target is the Henderson residence on Maple Street," she said. "Kid turns seven at two o'clock. We're looking at twenty-odd guests, each bringing a wrapped gift." Bill squinted at the blueprint, turning it sideways. He was a large man with a soft face and the general demeanor of someone who had been confused since birth and had simply learned to live with it. "Is that a dog or a security guard?" he asked, pointing at a brown blob near what Molly had labeled BACK DORE. "That's a bouncy castle." "Ah." Molly had been casing the Henderson house for three days, which mostly involved sitting in the minivan eating gas station sandwiches and watching a woman in yoga pants carry inflatable flamingos inside. She had identified two points of entry, one structural weakness, and a deeply troubling number of lawn gnomes. "Here's how it goes down," she said. "Party kicks off at two. By two-fifteen, every kid is hopped up on sugar and screaming. Parents will be hiding in the kitchen. Nobody watches the present table." "What about the clown?" Bill asked. "What clown?" "Every kids' party has a clown, Molly. You can't just ignore the clown." She stared at him for a long moment. He had a point, and she hated that. "Fine. If there's a clown, you handle the clown." "How exactly do I handle a clown?" "Engage him in conversation. Ask about the economy. Use your imagination." Bill nodded slowly, the way he always did when he was storing information in the swampy filing cabinet behind his eyes. He pulled a small notebook from his jacket and wrote CLOWNS in block letters, underlining it twice. The plan itself was elegant in its simplicity. Molly would enter through the side gate disguised as a party entertainer, carrying a bag large enough to hold a small pony. Bill would create a diversion in the backyard, the nature of which Molly had left deliberately vague because Bill's diversions tended to be more effective when unscripted. Last Fourth of July, he'd somehow started a conga line at a funeral, and they'd walked out with an entire catering spread. "We grab the gifts, load the van, and we're gone before they cut the cake," Molly said. "What if the cake is good?" Bill asked, his eyes suddenly earnest. "What if it's ice cream cake?" Molly folded the placemat with the careful precision of a woman who had planned eleven heists and regretted nine of them. "Then God help us both," she said.