Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV998BP6P8NMD83KYQTVTT

Molly spread the blueprint across the kitchen table, smoothing it with the reverence of a sommelier unfolding a wine list. Bill leaned in, squinting, a half-eaten Pop-Tart dangling from his lips. "Okay," Molly said. "The target is 42 Maplewood Lane. Birthday girl turns seven on Saturday. Her name is Tabitha." "Tabitha," Bill repeated. "Sounds rich." "She's getting an American Girl doll, a Nintendo Switch, and, according to the registry, a hand-crafted dollhouse worth eight hundred bucks." "Eight hundred dollars? For a dollhouse?" "It has working plumbing, Bill." "Working plumbing?" Bill pulled the Pop-Tart from his mouth. "Who gives a seven-year-old running water?" "The Hendersons, apparently. Now focus." Molly tapped the blueprint. "Party starts at two. Clown arrives at two-fifteen. That's our window." "Wait, wait, wait." Bill held up a crumby hand. "You want to rob a birthday party during the clown?" "Not during the clown. As the clown." Bill stared at her. "I've rented the costume," Molly said. "You're Chuckles the Magnificent. I'm your assistant." "Why am I the clown?" "Because you have the face for it." "That's deeply hurtful, Molly." "Take the compliment and move on." She produced a red foam nose from her jacket pocket and flicked it at him. "You do twenty minutes of balloon animals, I do the disappearing act, and while everyone's watching me get sawed in half—" "You own a box that saws people in half?" "I own a refrigerator box and a handsaw. It's theater, Bill. Commit." "And the presents?" "Stacked in the den. While you're twisting wiener dogs, I'm loading them into the clown van." "We have a clown van?" "We have a minivan with a clown sticker. Nobody questions a clown van." Bill chewed thoughtfully. "What about the parents? Seven-year-old's birthday, there's gonna be, what, fifteen adults minimum. Helicopter moms. Dads pretending they're not drunk at two in the afternoon." "That's why you're going to do the Hat Trick." "The Hat Trick?" "Pull a rabbit out of a hat. Except the rabbit is thirty cupcakes laced with Benadryl." Bill set the Pop-Tart down. "Molly." "What?" "We are not drugging children." "Not the children, the adults. The cupcakes are for the parents. Kids get regular cupcakes." "How do we make sure they don't get mixed up?" "Sprinkles." "Sprinkles?" "Adult cupcakes get rainbow sprinkles. Kid cupcakes get chocolate jimmies. Foolproof." "Foolproof," Bill echoed, "is a word people use right before everything goes wrong." Molly folded the blueprint. "Have some faith. This is the easiest score we've ever planned. No alarms, no guards, just juice boxes and a bouncy castle." "And if something goes sideways?" "Then you run. Honk your nose, wave your arms, and run. Nobody chases a clown, Bill. It's a primal thing." Bill picked the red nose off the floor and pressed it onto his face. It squeaked mournfully. "I hate this plan," he said. "You love this plan." "I love this plan," he admitted.