Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ05FDTVGQCJA93NT8DE668B

Molly spread the blueprints across the table, though they were just crayon drawings she'd lifted from a recycling bin outside the community center. The construction paper smelled like glue sticks and shattered dreams. Bill leaned in, squinting at a crude stick figure labeled "MOM WITH CAKE" standing near what appeared to be either a front door or a very tall window. "So what are we dealing with here?" Bill asked, brushing powdered donut sugar off the intelligence materials. "Saturday. Two to five. Jennifer's sixth birthday." Molly tapped a circle surrounded by smaller circles. "Thirty kids. Forty-two presents, minimum. I counted the RSVPs." "Forty-two presents for a six-year-old?" "Her mom's an influencer. The theme is unicorns. There will be a cotton candy machine, Bill. A cotton candy machine." Bill whistled low. "We're going to need a bigger bag." "We're going to need a distraction." Molly unrolled another piece of paper, this one a hand-drawn timeline with coffee ring stains. "At exactly three-fifteen, the clown arrives. That gives us a fifteen-minute window of maximum chaos while thirty children lose their minds over balloon animals." "What kind of clown?" "What does it matter?" "It matters if it's Gerald. Gerald knows me. I owe Gerald twenty bucks." Molly stared at him. "You owe a clown money." "It was a poker game. He cheated. He was doing that thing with the squirting flower." Bill waved his hand dismissively. "Forget Gerald. What's the entry plan?" "Back door. Kitchen. The caterer arrives at one to set up. We go in dressed as assistant caterers." Molly produced two aprons from her bag. They were neon pink and read "PARTY PERFECT CATERING" in glittery letters. "These are adorable," Bill said, putting one on immediately. "Focus." "I am focused. I look great." The plan was elegant in its simplicity. They would blend in during setup, hide in the coat closet when guests arrived, emerge during the clown distraction, fill their bags with wrapped gifts, and exit through the garage where a sedan would be idling with the engine running. "Who's driving the sedan?" Bill asked. "My niece. She's nineteen. Very responsible." "She got a license?" "She has a permit." "Molly." "She's very responsible." Bill picked up the crayon blueprint again, studying the layout. The coat closet was eight feet from the present table. The present table was four feet from the back exit through the kitchen. Simple math. Beautiful math. "What about the dog?" Bill said suddenly. "What dog?" "There's always a dog, Molly. Golden retriever. Named Biscuit or something. Loves everyone. Will absolutely not let us leave quietly." Molly flipped through her notes, panic flickering across her face for the first time. "There's no dog listed on the intelligence." "That's what they want you to think. The dog is never listed." Bill stood and paced. "We need dog treats. High-value dog treats. The fancy ones from the pet store that cost eleven dollars a bag." "I'm not spending eleven dollars on a dog we might not even encounter." "Would you spend ten?" "There's a coupon." "Then buy two bags. Insurance." Bill extended his hand. Molly shook it firmly. "Jennifer won't know what hit her." "Jennifer's going to get exactly the same Christmas she would have gotten anyway. We're not monsters." "Right. We're professionals." They packed the supplies into a duffel bag: aprons, zip ties for the coat closet door handle from the inside, dog treats, and a small Bluetooth speaker loaded with a playlist called "HEIST JAMS" that was mostly jazz. Bill paused at the door. "One more thing." "What?" "If Gerald's the clown, I'm going to need you to handle the distraction while I avoid eye contact." "Fine." "And I still think he cheated." "Go home, Bill. Practice walking like a caterer." He left, walking surprisingly gracefully in the neon pink apron. Molly watched him go, already dreading Saturday but also, if she was being honest, a little excited. Forty-two presents. She wondered what kind of toys six-year-olds even liked these days. Probably tablets or something equally uninspiring. She hoped at least one box contained something interesting. She started packing the dog treats.