Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0397QGRGCSA42XCWJGP42B

Molly studied the birthday banner through her narrow binoculars. "You’re telling me your entire plan involves dressing as a clown." Bill tightened a polka-dot bow tie with grave solemnity. "Not just any clown. Chuckles the Magnificent. I spent six weeks at clown college." "That was a cult." "It had a pamphlet." Bill held up a giant canvas sack. "Kids love clowns. Parents tolerate clowns. Nobody questions a clown carrying a sack marked Balloons. It is festive and suspiciously spacious." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "We’re stealing from a five-year-old, not knocking over Fort Knox. There are parents everywhere. There is a bouncer at the gate checking names. There is a man in a gorilla suit handing out juice boxes in the hot sun." "I recognize him from the union," Bill said. "His name is Gary. Good guy. Bad unicycle." "There is no clown union." "We always have a dental plan. Highly comprehensive. I get two cleanings a year." She lowered the binoculars. "Listen. The party ends at four. Parents herd everyone inside for cake. That’s when the presents get stacked on the patio table. You create the diversion." Bill perked up. "Clown diversion?" "You pull the fire alarm in the guest bathroom." "That’s arson." "It’s a smoke bomb. You stand by the bathroom, drop it, yell Structural integrity compromised, and run. Do not stop to help anyone. Do not juggle." "I was going to yell Fire. It is concise." "Too obvious. I go over the back fence, load gifts into a laundry basket. Ninety-second window." Bill frowned. "What if the children cry when the presents vanish? Birthdays are formative. My seventh piñata was empty and I never trusted llamas again." "You were going to burn down a bathroom." "I have a code. Llamas are suspicious. What if we replace the gifts? Leave something humble. A single orange. A yo-yo. A pamphlet on sharing, or perhaps a toothbrush. A subtle hint. Kids love oral care." "We are not leaving pamphlets." "Not even one about dental hygiene?" "Bill." He crossed his arms. "I keep the nose." "No clown nose." "For morale." "Thieves don’t need morale noses." Bill squeezed a red nose. It honked mournfully. "Tell that to Chuckles." Molly checked her watch. "Two minutes. Do not engage the piñata." "But there is candy." "Focus. Smoke the bathroom. I grab the loot. No tears, minimal arson." "Smoke bomb," Bill corrected, slipping on shoes three sizes too big and bright red. "Over the fence, grab the presents, no balloon animals." "If you make one balloon animal, I’m deflating the bouncy castle with you inside it." Bill gasped. "So I am allowed in the bouncy castle?" "Only if you want to suffocate under vinyl." He adjusted his ridiculous bow tie. "Worth it. I bet the castle has dinosaurs on it. T-Rex, probably." Molly glared, gripping the laundry basket with white knuckles. "If you mention dinosaurs one more time, you are walking home in those shoes. Seventy percent of this partnership is pure regret." "What’s the other thirty percent?" "LAUNDRY BASKETS."