Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZTX2DKCXXKCS15FG3BC24Y

Molly spread the blueprint across the card table and tapped it with a chipped fingernail. The paper was a hand-drawn map of the Hendersons' backyard, complete with a stick figure labeled "CLOWN (ARMED?)." "Okay, Bill. Walk me through it one more time." Bill cracked his knuckles with the solemnity of a surgeon. "At fourteen hundred hours, Timmy Henderson turns seven." "Tragic." "At fourteen-thirty, presents get stacked on the gift table near the bouncy castle." "And that's when we strike." "That's when we strike." Molly leaned back and folded her arms. "Bill. We're stealing from a child." "We're stealing from a child's *parents*, technically. Those gifts haven't been legally transferred yet. It's a gray area." "Oh, it's a gray area now?" "Very gray. Charcoal, even." She sighed. "Fine. What's our cover?" "I'm the magician. You're my lovely assistant." "Absolutely not." "Molly—" "I'm not wearing sequins, Bill. We agreed. After the cruise ship job, no more sequins." "Fine. You're the magician. I'll be the lovely assistant." "You're six-foot-four and you have a neck tattoo of a scorpion." "Kids love scorpions." "Kids are *terrified* of scorpions, Bill, that's the whole point of a scorpion." He rubbed his jaw. "Okay, new plan. Balloon animals. I do balloons, you case the gift table, and when the piñata goes up—" "The piñata." "The piñata is our diversion. Every kid at that party will be swinging a bat with a blindfold on. Total chaos. We grab the presents, we go out through the side gate, we're on the 405 before they find the Tootsie Rolls." Molly stared at him. "You want to commit grand larceny during a piñata." "I want to commit grand larceny during the *perfect* piñata. There's a difference." "What about the clown?" "What about him?" "You wrote 'armed' with a question mark, Bill. I need you to resolve that question mark before we go in." Bill scratched his head. "Look, I called the party rental place. Pretending to be a concerned grandmother. The clown's name is Sprinkles and he's a retired accountant." "An accountant." "From Glendale." "So he's not armed." "He's armed with *balloons*, Molly. And, like, emotional damage, probably. Accountants, you know." She folded the blueprint in half, then in half again. "One more question." "Shoot." "What do we do with the presents? They're gonna be, what, a light-up yo-yo? A stuffed giraffe? We can't fence a stuffed giraffe." Bill grinned, the slow grin he got before every disaster. "Molly. Have you seen what kids get these days? iPads. Drones. One of those little Peloton things for toddlers." "Toddlers have Pelotons?" "Rich toddlers do. And Timmy Henderson's dad is a dentist." She was quiet for a long moment. Then she picked up the blueprint, tucked it into her jacket, and stood. "Bill." "Yeah?" "If I have to punch a clown named Sprinkles, I'm taking it out of your cut." "Deal."