Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0G01D5Y6A537GRT3EZYCXS

The back booth of Dorothy's Diner smelled like burnt coffee and regret, which Molly felt was appropriate for the occasion. She slid the blueprint across the formica table. Bill squinted at it, chewing a toothpick like it owed him money. "That's a floor plan of a Chuck E. Cheese," Bill said. "It's a Pizza Palace." "It's the same thing, Molly." "It is legally and spiritually not the same thing, Bill, and if you'd read the briefing materials—" "You stapled them to a coloring book." "For camouflage." Bill sighed and flipped the blueprint over. On the back, Molly had drawn a stick figure labeled BILL holding a sack labeled LOOT. "Walk me through it," he said. "Okay. Fourteen-hundred hours, Saturday. Subject is Tyler Mackenzie Dupree, age seven, recently bar mitzvahed—" "Tyler's seven." "He's advanced. Point is, rich parents, soft defenses, approximately thirty guests, each arriving with a wrapped present in the two-hundred-dollar range." "Two hundred dollars? For a seven-year-old?" "Welcome to the Upper West Side, William." Bill whistled low. "That's six grand in LEGOs." "That's six grand in resale LEGOs. We're looking at four, maybe five, after fencing." "Who fences LEGOs?" "You'd be surprised. There's a guy in Queens named Kenny. He goes by The Brickmaster." "I hate this city." Molly leaned in. "Entry point is the ball pit. We wade in around thirteen-thirty, submerge, wait for the chaos." "I'm not getting in a ball pit." "Bill." "Molly, do you know what's in a ball pit? I saw a documentary. There's hair. There's teeth. A kid once found a live possum." "That was a viral post, not a documentary." "The possum was real to me, Molly." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. New plan. You go in as the clown." "Absolutely not." "You have the face for it." "I'm choosing to ignore that." "Bill, somebody has to distract the kids while I stuff the presents into the bouncy castle." "Why is the bouncy castle involved?" "It deflates. We zip it up. Thirty presents, one sad pile of vinyl, we wheel it out the fire exit before anyone's done singing." Bill stared at her for a long moment. The toothpick drooped. "That's actually kind of beautiful." "Thank you." "Deeply illegal. But beautiful." "I've been working on it." "What about the parents?" "Mrs. Dupree will be drinking prosecco from a sippy cup by one-fifteen. Mr. Dupree is on a call with his mistress the entire party. Trust me, I've been casing this family for three weeks." "You've been what?" "Don't worry about it." Bill pocketed the blueprint, then the coloring book, then, after some hesitation, the crayon. "One question." "Shoot." "When we get out—are we giving any of the presents back?" Molly looked genuinely wounded. "Bill. We're thieves. Not monsters." "So that's a no." "That's a firm no." He nodded slowly, stood up, and dropped a five on the table. "I'll get the clown shoes."