Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ03FZDHMR411WZ4Q4ZYBBD4

Molly pressed her face against the chain-link fence, her breath fogging in the November cold. Across the parking lot, the community center blazed with colored lights. A hand-painted banner read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOPHIE!" in wobbly letters. "Count the presents again," she whispered. Bill raised the binoculars. His nose was red and running, which he blamed on allergies and Molly blamed on incompetence. "I count thirty-six. No, wait. Thirty-seven. Someone just carried in a big one with a bow." "Thirty-seven presents." Molly leaned back against the van. "That's what, two hundred a piece on average?" "At least. Sophie's parents are loaded. I heard the dad invented some kind of app." "What kind of app?" "I don't know. An app app. Does it matter?" "It matters if it's a parenting app. Those people are organized. They'll have a guest list." Bill lowered the binoculars. "It's a children's party, Molly. There's going to be a bounce house and a clown named Mr. Sprinkles. We're not infiltrating the Pentagon." "Don't underestimate clowns. They notice things." "You're worried about a clown." "I'm worried about underestimating a clown. There's a difference." A minivan pulled into the lot and a woman wrestled out a gift roughly the size of a refrigerator. Bill watched it through the binoculars and let out a low whistle. "That's got to be a play kitchen. Those go for three hundred easy." "See, this is why we're here. Sophie's living better than us and she's six." "She's turning seven." "Even worse." Molly pulled out a crumpled floor plan she'd drawn on the back of a Denny's placemat. Bill squinted at it. "What's this circle here?" "The bounce house." "And this rectangle?" "The cake table." "And this little square with the star on it?" "That's Mr. Sprinkles. I marked him as a threat." Bill rubbed his temples. "Okay. So we go in through the side door during the magic show. The magician is some guy named Dennis who does birthday parties for eighty bucks. He'll have everyone's attention for at least twenty minutes." "Dennis could be good. Or Dennis could be bad. What if his tricks are terrible and the kids get restless? Then we've got forty sugared-up seven-year-olds roaming free." "Then we improvise." "I hate improvising." "You love improvising. You improvised that thing at the pet store and we got away with twelve parakeets." "We got away with eleven. You dropped one." "That parakeet wanted to be free, Molly." She stuffed the placemat back into her jacket. "Fine. Side door during the magic show. I'll handle the presents. You're the lookout." "Why am I always the lookout?" "Because last time you carried things, you dropped a parakeet." Bill opened his mouth, closed it, and picked up the binoculars again. Inside the community center, someone had just wheeled out an enormous cake shaped like a unicorn. The lights flickered. Music started. "Showtime in twenty minutes," Bill said. Molly cracked her knuckles. "Let's go steal a birthday."