Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8X809ZJ0MDZ3HV004BT1B9

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the van and anchored one corner with a half-eaten granola bar. The map was done in crayon, which she felt added a certain poetic justice to the operation. "Alright, here's the layout," she said, tapping a wobbly blue rectangle. "The Patterson house. Party starts at two. We've got a bounce castle on the east lawn, a balloon artist working the patio, and a pile of presents roughly the size of a Fiat stacked in the living room." Bill leaned over the map, squinting. "Why is the house shaped like a dinosaur?" "I traced it from the kid's birthday invitation. Focus, Bill." "I am focused. I'm just saying, architecturally, that's a bold choice for a split-level ranch." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. She had pulled off a jewel heist in Monaco with fewer logistical headaches than this conversation. "The presents will be unguarded between two fifteen and two forty-five," she continued. "That's when they do the piñata. Every adult in that house will be outside watching children swing a bat, which frankly is the only thing worth watching at these events." "What about security?" Bill asked. "There's a golden retriever named Biscuit. He's old. He's slow. I've been feeding him deli meat through the fence for two weeks. He loves me more than he loves that family." Bill crossed his arms. "And the entry point?" "Side door off the kitchen. The lock is a joke. I've seen better security on a diary." "I had a diary with a lock once," Bill said, staring into the middle distance. "My sister picked it in four seconds." "Your sister should be on this crew instead of you." "She's a dentist now. Went straight. Real tragedy." Molly rolled up the map and stuffed it into her jacket. The afternoon sun bounced off the van's dented panels, and somewhere down the street a child screamed with the boundless, unhinged joy that only a sugar high could produce. She shuddered. "Once we're inside, we load everything into the duffel bags. We do not open any presents. We do not shake any presents. Last time you shook a box and set off a singing fish toy and we almost got caught at that retirement home." "That fish haunts me, Molly." "It haunts all of us. Now, getaway route. We go out the side door, cut through the neighbor's yard, and we're back at the van in ninety seconds." Bill nodded slowly, then frowned. "Do you ever feel bad about this? Stealing from kids?" Molly stared at him. "Bill, that pile contains at least fourteen gaming consoles, a drone, and something called a Squishmallow that resells for sixty bucks. These kids live better than we do." "Fair point." "Now put on your clown costume." Bill looked at the rainbow wig and red nose sitting on the passenger seat. He picked them up with the grim resignation of a man who had made every wrong decision available to him. "I want a bigger cut this time," he said. "Steal bigger presents," Molly said, and started the van.