Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV4TE7C9A5X4HC40YY6MEN

Molly spread the blueprints across the sticky diner table, narrowly avoiding a puddle of maple syrup. Bill leaned in, squinting, a piece of bacon dangling from his mouth like a very disappointing cigar. "Okay," she said, tapping the paper. "The target is 1428 Maplewood Drive. Birthday girl turns seven on Saturday. Theme is unicorns." "Unicorns," Bill repeated. "I hate unicorns." "Your feelings about mythological horses are not relevant to the heist, Bill." "They're relevant to me." Molly ignored him. "Party starts at two. Presents pile up on the dining room table through three. That's our window." "And how," Bill asked, chewing thoughtfully, "do we get in? Last I checked, two adults without children tend to stand out at a seven-year-old's birthday party." "We're the entertainment." Bill stopped chewing. "No." "Yes." "Absolutely not." "I already rented the costumes." "Molly, I swear to God—" "You're Sprinkles the Clown. I'm Madame Rainbow, the face-painting fairy." Bill set down his bacon with the solemnity of a man laying a loved one to rest. "I have a felony conviction. I have three teeth that aren't technically mine. I have a tattoo of a scorpion on my neck that says 'Mom's Regret.' And you want me to be Sprinkles." "The costume covers the tattoo." "Does it cover my soul?" "Bill." "Fine." He picked the bacon back up. "How do we get the presents out? I'm not shoving a pink bicycle down my clown pants." "That's what the van is for. I park it around back at two-thirty. You do balloon animals in the living room to keep the kids distracted. I sneak through the kitchen, out the side door, and start loading." "What about the parents?" "Parents at these things are either day-drinking in the kitchen or hiding in the bathroom pretending to take important calls. They won't notice." "And if they do?" "Then you start juggling." "I can't juggle." "Then learn by Saturday." Bill rubbed his temples. "I just want to go on record. When we started this life of crime, I pictured something more... dignified. Banks. Yachts. A Swiss vault, maybe." "We tried the yacht, Bill. You got seasick on a paddleboat." "That was a fluke." "You threw up on a duck." "The duck was aggressive." Molly rolled up the blueprints. "Look, we clear eight thousand dollars in toys, minimum. Resale on Facebook Marketplace. Nobody suspects a clown." "Everybody suspects a clown. That is the defining trait of clowns." "Children don't." "Children are the worst." "Which is exactly why we're doing this." She slid a photograph across the table. A small girl in a tiara, surrounded by wrapped boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling. "Her dad's a hedge fund guy. These kids get drones now, Bill. Drones." Bill studied the photo, then sighed the sigh of a man making peace with his fate. "Fine. But I'm keeping the drone." "Deal." "And Molly?" "Yeah?" "If anyone asks, Sprinkles is my cousin."