Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0G275FE6HA8AQQRTE4GBWA

The back booth of Denny's smelled like burnt coffee and regret, which Molly considered an appropriate ambiance for criminal planning. "Absolutely not," Bill said, stabbing a hash brown like it owed him money. "I am not robbing a seven-year-old." "She's turning eight." "Oh, well, in that case." Molly unfolded a napkin covered in diagrams. "Bill. Look at this intel. Tabitha Worthington-Price. Daddy's a hedge fund guy. Mommy's an influencer. Do you know what rich people give their kids now?" "Love and stability?" "iPads, Bill. Gaming consoles. There's a rumor going around that one of the aunts is bringing a pony." "We can't fence a pony." "I know a guy." "You always know a guy." Bill rubbed his temples. "Why does it always have to be you knowing a guy?" "Because I'm charismatic and you have the face of a disgraced accountant." Molly slid the napkin across. "Here's the layout. Bounce house, east lawn. Face painter, gazebo. Presents pile, sunroom. That's the soft target." "And the guards?" "Two clowns." "Clowns? Like, actual—" "Hired muscle dressed as clowns. Private security. Daddy Worthington is paranoid after the yacht thing." "What yacht thing?" "Doesn't matter. Point is, clowns." Bill exhaled slowly. "What's the extraction plan?" "Ice cream truck." "Molly." "Hear me out. Kids love ice cream trucks. Parents wave at ice cream trucks. Nobody questions an ice cream truck. We pull up at 2:15, which is exactly when Tabitha's mother does her Instagram Live, which means every adult with a phone is trying to angle for the background. We slip in the side gate dressed as entertainers—" "What kind of entertainers?" "Balloon artists." "I can't make balloon animals." "You can make a snake, Bill. A snake is just a balloon." "That's not—" Bill took a long sip of coffee. "Fine. I'm the snake guy. Then what?" "Then I do my magic act by the sunroom. While everyone's watching me pull a rabbit out of a hat, you load the presents into the false bottom of the ice cream truck." "There's a false bottom now?" "Carl's been working on it all week." "Carl has a gambling problem, Molly." "Which is exactly why he works fast." She leaned forward. "Bill. Thirty presents. Minimum six hundred bucks retail per kid at this party. We're looking at twenty grand in merchandise, easy. Plus the pony." "Stop saying the pony." "The pony is happening." Bill stared out the window at the parking lot, where a pigeon was eating a cigarette butt with tremendous conviction. "What about the birthday girl? She's gonna cry." "She has three iPads already. It'll build character." "That's a terrible thing to say." "Bill. Are you in, or are you in?" "Those aren't—" He sighed the sigh of a man who had lost this argument before it started. "What time do I need to learn to make a snake?" Molly smiled and signaled for the check. "Tuesday. Wear something cheerful. And Bill?" "What?" "Bring a carrot. For the pony."