Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ05M6BVTWTFJ5QCTS9EKN5Y

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the van, weighing down the corners with a half-eaten donut and a socket wrench. The paper showed the layout of Pinwheel Party Palace, a sprawling indoor funhouse that resembled what would happen if a clown threw up on a warehouse. Fluorescent arrows marked the entrances, exits, and what Molly had labeled in red pen as the kill zone, which turned out to be the ball pit. "So we go in through the kitchen," Molly said, tapping the paper. "Cut through the toddler area and hit the gift room during the magic show." Bill squinted at the blueprint like it was written in ancient Greek. He scratched his chin, leaving a streak of engine grease across his jaw that made him look like a negligent mechanic, which he was. He drummed his fingers on the fender, a habit that made Molly want to break his hands. "Why can't we just go through the front door?" "Because the front door has Brenda. She scans every adult who walks in. No kids, no entry." Bill considered this, his face cycling through emotions that all landed somewhere between confusion and mild indigestion. "So we steal kids?" "We are not stealing children! We're stealing presents." "I'm just saying, a couple of kids would make good cover." Molly closed her eyes and counted to four, because five felt generous. She walked him through the plan again, slower this time, using smaller words. The kitchen staff changed shift at two. They would enter in catering uniforms she had acquired from a man named Dishwasher Pete, who operated out of a storage unit behind the Sizzler. They would blend in, grab the loot while everyone watched some guy in a cape pull squeaky toys out of a hat, and vanish before anyone thought to slice the cake. "What kind of cake?" "What?" "If it's chocolate, I might need a minute." Molly stared at him with the expression usually reserved for dogs who have eaten something unfortunate off the carpet. She redirected his attention to a small square room on the blueprint adjacent to the prize wall. According to her source, a woman named Deb who ran the face-painting station and had absolutely no loyalty, there were approximately forty presents inside. Electronics, gift cards, high-end toys the kids would probably ignore in favor of the boxes they came in. Conservative estimate, twelve thousand dollars in merchandise. Bill's eyes widened to the point of comedy. "Twelve thousand from a kids' party?" "These are the Whitfield twins. Their father owns three car dealerships. Last year he hired a real pony, Bill. Inside a party palace." Bill cracked his knuckles one by one, a sound that made Molly's teeth itch. "What's the exit strategy?" "Same way in. Kitchen to loading dock. Van running." "What if something goes wrong?" "Like what?" "What if the magician makes us disappear?" "Then I pull you out of the hat and we run." Molly folded the blueprint and stuffed it into her jacket. "Put on your hairnet. We've got a party to crash." Bill tugged the hairnet over his head, where it looked like a small spiderweb stretched over a watermelon. He grabbed the empty donut box for cover and announced he was ready. Molly started the van, muttered something that was not a prayer, and pulled away from the curb.