Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ956N9WAF77P3MAM2NDFD60

Look at the blueprints, Bill. I spent three hours scouting the perimeter. Bill squinted at the crumpled paper. That is a Denny’s placemat, Molly. And you’ve drawn the X in maple syrup. It is a topographical map of the Johnson estate. Here, by the sandbox, is the primary insertion point. Is the fence electrified? Bill asked, leaning in. It is cedar, Bill. But it has those pointy decorative bits on top. Very intimidating. Now, the prize is in the sunroom. It is a mountain of wrapped boxes. High-end stuff. We are talking premium Lego sets, tablets, and maybe even one of those miniature electric Porsches. I have always wanted a Porsche, Bill whispered. You are six-foot-four, you would look like a Shriner. Focus. At fourteen-hundred hours, the clown arrives. Should we be worried about the clown? I have heard they have hidden pockets. Are we talking a professional or a local hire? The clown is our window. He is the tactical distraction. While he is making a balloon giraffe that looks like a mutated sausage, we slip through the sliding glass door. What about the heavy security? You mean the twelve toddlers in sticky socks? They are unpredictable, Molly. One of them sees us, lets out a high-pitched squeal, and the jig is up. They are like living sirens. Sentient, jam-covered alarms. We use the tactical bribes, Molly said, patting her tactical vest. I have got six bags of organic, gluten-free fruit snacks. It is better than gold in that neighborhood. Smart. Very professional. And the parents? Chardonnay, Bill. They will be on the patio, discussing private school tuition and juice cleanses. They won't see a thing as long as the caterer keeps the shrimp cocktail coming. Wait, is there shrimp? Because my allergy— You are wearing the hazmat suit, remember? I thought that was for the ball pit. I am not going in the ball pit without protection. Do you know what kind of bacteria thrives in those plastic spheres? It is a petri dish of misery and forgotten dreams. The suit is for the theme, Bill. We are the Pollution Patrol. If anyone asks, we are there to inspect the inflatable slide for toxic fumes. Do I get a badge? I made you one out of a cereal box. Just pin it on your chest. Now, once we bag the goods, we head for the hedge. Stay low and do not trip over the vibranium-shield-carrying kindergartner. The what? The kid dressed as Captain America. He has a mean throw. I can handle a kid, Molly. That is what you said about the goat at the petting zoo heist, and you still have the bite marks. That goat was an outlier. Okay, so we bag the loot, hit the hedge, then what? We vanish into the suburbs. We will be halfway to the pawn shop before the birthday boy even blows out his candles. Can we stay for the cake? Bill asked. I heard it is red velvet. No cake, Bill. We are thieves, not guests. But it has the cream cheese frosting, Molly. One slice, she sighed. But if you get crumbs on the evidence, I am leaving you in the ball pit.