Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV2K8QA8KAE5NW77F9MY7J

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the Buick, anchoring its corners with a juice box, a stolen party hat, and two half-eaten cupcakes she refused to explain. "Okay," she said, tapping the paper. "Backyard entrance, here. Bouncy castle, here. Present table, here. Questions?" Bill squinted. "Yeah. Why is the bouncy castle labeled 'Point of No Return'?" "Because once you're in one, Bill, you're in one." "That's not a strategic concern, that's a personal one." "Everything is personal when you're forty-one and wearing socks with Velcro shoes." Bill adjusted his clip-on tie, which featured a cartoon dinosaur eating a birthday cake. "I look ridiculous." "You look like an uncle." "I look like the uncle parents warn kids about." "Exactly. Perfect cover." Molly handed him a gift bag the size of a small refrigerator. "This is empty. You fill it. Priority targets are the big boxes near the cake. That's where the Legos live." "Legos?" "Bill. Legos are currency. Legos are the gold standard of the under-ten black market. You bring me a sealed Millennium Falcon set and I will personally name my firstborn after your cat." "My cat's name is Gary." "Then Gary it is." Bill scratched his neck where the tie was digging in. "What about the parents?" "Distracted. There's a clown." "You hired a clown?" "I *am* the clown." "Oh no." "Oh yes." Molly lifted a duffel bag and produced a red nose, a rainbow wig, and what appeared to be a very tired squirrel on a leash. "Molly. Is that a squirrel." "His name is Mr. Peanuts and he works for cashews." "That's a felony in at least two states." "Then we won't do it in those states." She shoved the squirrel back in the bag, where he made a noise like a kazoo being strangled. "Focus. You've got fourteen minutes between 'Happy Birthday' and 'piñata time.' That's your window." "Why piñata time?" "Because when candy hits the ground, Bill, society collapses. Children become animals. We will be invisible in the carnage." "And if someone notices?" "You cry." "I cry?" "You cry and you say you're Timmy's dad." "Who's Timmy?" "Doesn't matter. There is always a Timmy. Statistically, at any children's party, forty percent of the boys are named Timmy, Tommy, or Brayden." "Brayden isn't—" "Brayden, Bill. Always Brayden." Bill exhaled slowly, staring at the blueprint like it had personally insulted his mother. "Remind me why we're stealing from children again?" "Because adults lock their doors. Children have streamers." "That's not an ethical justification." "It's not supposed to be. It's a logistical one." He picked up the empty gift bag. It had a picture of a bear on it saying *You're BEARY Special!* "Molly." "Yes, Bill." "If I get tackled by a six-year-old, I want you to know I will fold immediately." "I'd expect nothing less." She slapped the red nose onto her face. "Let's go ruin a childhood."