Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZTYY45M1YSCWQSGCFJCKF7

Molly spread the blueprints across the sticky diner table, pinning down the corners with a ketchup bottle, a salt shaker, and two half-eaten pancakes. Bill leaned in, squinting through his reading glasses, which were held together with a paperclip and what appeared to be chewed gum. "Okay," Molly said. "The Hendersons' backyard. Saturday. Fourteen hundred hours." "That's two o'clock, Molly. Just say two o'clock." "It sounds more professional the other way." "We're stealing from a seven-year-old." "Eight," Molly corrected. "Little Timmy turns eight on Saturday, which is precisely why the loot will be at peak volume. Bikes. Tablets. Possibly a Nintendo." Bill scratched his beard. "I still feel weird about this." "Last week you stole a kidney from a hospital." "That was different." "How?" "The kidney didn't have feelings." Molly sighed and tapped the blueprint. "Focus. Bouncy castle here. Clown station here. Cake table here. The presents get piled on this folding table by the oak tree, guarded only by Grandma Henderson, who, according to my research, peaks at three mimosas before noon." "How did you research that?" "I befriended her at Zumba." "You go to Zumba?" "I go where the intel is, Bill." Bill whistled, impressed despite himself. "And the plan?" "Simple. You dress as the clown." "Absolutely not." "Bill." "I have a phobia, Molly. You know this." "You have a phobia of clowns, and your solution is to refuse to be one?" "That's exactly how phobias work!" Molly rubbed her temples. "Fine. You're the magician. Pull a rabbit out of a hat, distract the children, while I swoop in with the duffel bag and extract the presents through the hedge." "What about the parents?" "The parents," Molly said, smiling slowly, "will be occupied by the pony." "What pony?" "The pony I rented." "You rented a pony?" "I rented a pony, Bill. Keep up." Bill took off his glasses, which immediately fell apart. "And when the kids realize all their presents are gone?" "By then we'll be halfway to the fence. Tommy from Fencing and Fenceworks is giving us forty cents on the dollar for anything still in the box." "His name is literally Tommy Fence?" "It's a family business." Bill stared at the blueprint for a long moment. A single tear formed in the corner of his eye, though it might have been from the pancake syrup fumes. "My mother would be so disappointed." "Your mother robbed an armored car in 1987." "Yes, but she had standards. She wouldn't take candy from a baby." "We're not taking candy," Molly said gently, squeezing his hand. "We're taking a PlayStation, a Razor scooter, and, if the gift registry is accurate, a small trampoline." Bill nodded slowly, convinced. "Okay. I'm in." "Good." Molly rolled up the blueprints. "One more thing." "Yeah?" "You're still the clown. The magician quit this morning. Allergic to doves." Bill's scream echoed through the diner, startling a nearby toddler into tears.