Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZTXW9KYR949J0SM7M63KRB

Molly spread the blueprints across the sticky diner table, smoothing them with the reverence of a general before battle. Bill slurped his milkshake. "Stop that," she said. "Stop what?" "That sound. It's distracting." "It's a milkshake, Molly. It's supposed to make sounds." She tapped the paper. "Focus. The Pemberton residence. Seven-year-old's birthday party. Theme is, and I quote, 'Unicorn Pirates of the Caribbean.'" "That's not a theme. That's a cry for help." "The point is, there will be approximately thirty children, fifteen parents, one magician, and a bouncy castle shaped like a dragon." Bill leaned forward. "How much loot are we talking?" "Conservative estimate? Two grand in presents. The Pembertons invited the entire second grade. These are hedge fund children, Bill. Their stocking stuffers cost more than your car." "My car is a classic." "Your car is a 1997 Dodge Neon with a bumper held on by prayer." "It has character." "It has tetanus." She jabbed the blueprint. "Entry point is the sunroom. The presents will be stacked here, on the dining room table, until cake. That's our window." Bill squinted. "And how exactly do two grown adults slip past thirty children? Kids are like motion sensors with juice boxes. They see everything." "Which is why you're going in as the clown." "Absolutely not." "Bill." "Molly, I told you. After last Christmas. After the mall. After what happened with that elf costume—" "That was a misunderstanding." "A child bit me, Molly. On the face." "And you bit him back, which is why we can't go to that mall anymore." Bill sank into the vinyl booth. "I'm not wearing the nose." "You'll wear the nose, and the wig, and the oversized shoes, and you'll juggle, and you'll like it." "I can't juggle." "Then learn. You have forty-eight hours." "What are you going to be doing while I'm getting assaulted by second-graders?" "I'll be the caterer. Black polo, clipboard, resting professional face. Nobody questions a woman with a clipboard. I'll slip into the dining room, load the presents into catering trays, and walk out the front door like I'm delivering crudités." Bill stirred his milkshake gloomily. "This is undignified." "This is a payday." "What if someone wants a balloon animal?" "Make one." "I can only make the snake." "A snake is an animal, Bill." "A snake is a straight balloon, Molly. It's a balloon I didn't twist. It's a failure balloon." She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Listen to me. We get in, we smile, we grab the presents, we're gone before they cut the cake. In and out. Clean. Easy. Nobody gets hurt, nobody gets bit." "You can't promise that last part." "I can promise I'll try." Bill sighed, long and defeated. "Fine. But I'm keeping whatever's in the biggest box." "Deal." "And Molly?" "Yeah?" "If a kid bites me, I'm biting back." "I would expect nothing less."