Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV7YMN9HBFCZ0KYAQKA1DH

Molly spread the blueprint across the sticky diner table, narrowly avoiding a puddle of syrup. Bill leaned in, squinting through his reading glasses, which were held together by a single crusty band-aid. "Alright," Molly said, tapping a red circle with her pen. "The Henderson kid turns seven on Saturday. Twenty-three confirmed RSVPs. That's twenty-three gift bags, minimum." "Plus the main haul," Bill added. "Birthday boy himself." "Exactly. Word is the grandparents flew in from Boca. You know what that means." Bill's eyes widened. "Savings bonds?" "Savings bonds, Bill." He let out a low whistle and stole a fry off her plate. She slapped his hand. "Focus. Entry point is here, the back patio. Bounce house goes up at noon. Clown arrives at twelve-thirty." "I hate clowns." "Everyone hates clowns. That's why he's our distraction." "Wait, the clown's in on it?" "The clown is me, Bill." Bill stared at her for a long moment. "You're the clown." "I'm the clown." "Molly, last time you tried a disguise, you went to a bat mitzvah dressed as a rabbi and got asked to say a prayer." "I nailed that prayer." "You said 'shalom' forty-one times." "And nobody suspected a thing until dessert." She crossed her arms. "The clown thing is airtight. I've got the wig, the nose, the little horn. I do three balloon animals, juggle for ninety seconds, then herd the kids into the backyard for a magic show." "While I do what?" "While you, my beautiful idiot, pose as the pizza guy and load the presents into the van through the side gate." Bill chewed thoughtfully. "What if a parent wants pizza?" "Give them pizza." "I don't have pizza." "Bill." "I'm just saying, a pizza guy without pizza is suspicious." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. We bring two pizzas. One cheese, one pepperoni. Happy?" "Ecstatic." "The presents get loaded in ninety seconds. We rendezvous at the corner of Elm, I ditch the wig, you ditch the pizza hat, and we are sipping margaritas in Ensenada by sundown." Bill nodded slowly, then frowned. "One problem." "What." "What if the kids want to hug the clown?" Molly paused. "Why would they hug the clown?" "Kids hug clowns, Molly. It's a whole thing. They run at you. They cling. Like little barnacles made of juice." "Then I'll hug them back. Briefly. Professionally." "You don't hug people. You didn't hug me when my iguana died." "Your iguana hated me." "Lenny loved everybody." "Lenny bit my earlobe off." "He was being affectionate." Molly folded the blueprint with surgical precision and slid it into her jacket. "Saturday. Noon. Don't be late, don't be sober, and for the love of God, don't eat the pizza." Bill saluted with a fry. "What about the cake?" "What about the cake?" "Are we taking the cake?" Molly considered this. She smiled slowly, wickedly, like a woman who had just discovered a loophole in the universe. "Bill," she said. "We're taking the whole cake."