Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0G8ZKMW1J5RNS28FNDQHKG

Molly spread the blueprints across the sticky diner table, nudging aside a plate of half-eaten pancakes. Bill leaned in, squinting at the crayon-scrawled paper like it was a nuclear launch code. "This is the layout?" Bill asked. "That's the layout." "Molly, this is drawn on the back of a Denny's placemat." "I know what it's drawn on, Bill. I drew it." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's a dinosaur in the corner." "That's the bouncy castle." "Why does it have teeth?" "Because it's a dinosaur bouncy castle," Molly said, tapping the paper with a chipped fingernail. "Focus. The birthday boy turns seven at two o'clock sharp. That's when the piñata drops, and that's when every parent in that backyard is distracted." "And the presents?" "Stacked on a folding table by the rose bushes. I counted at least eleven gift bags at the last party I cased." Bill looked up slowly. "You cased a seven-year-old's birthday party?" "I was thorough." "You were at a seven-year-old's birthday party, Molly." "I told them I was Aunt Deborah." "Whose Aunt Deborah?" "Everybody's, apparently. Nobody questioned it. I ate three cupcakes and left with a goodie bag." Bill rubbed his face. "I want to go on record saying this is the lowest point of my criminal career." "Lower than the llama thing?" "Don't bring up the llama thing." "You brought up the llama thing." "I said don't bring it up." Bill took a long sip of coffee. "What's our way in?" "The side gate. Mom's busy with the magician, Dad's arguing about the grill, and the nanny is on her phone crying about a guy named Trevor." "How do you know about Trevor?" "I'm Aunt Deborah, Bill. People tell me things." Bill stared at her. "So we waltz in, grab the presents, and walk out." "We don't walk. We roll." "Roll?" Molly produced a photograph from her jacket and slid it across the table. Bill looked down at a picture of a bright red Radio Flyer wagon. "Absolutely not." "It's the perfect getaway vehicle." "It's a child's toy." "It's inconspicuous. Nobody suspects a wagon." "Everyone suspects a wagon when it's being pulled by two grown adults away from a birthday party full of screaming children." "Then we don't run. We stroll. Confidence, Bill. Confidence is the best disguise." Bill sighed the sigh of a man who had made poor life choices and was about to make another one. "What's my role?" "You're the clown." "I'm sorry?" "Specifically, Mr. Giggles. I rented the costume. It's in the car." "Molly." "The real Mr. Giggles has food poisoning. I may or may not have slipped something into his oat milk." "Molly!" "Keep your voice down, Bill. We're in public." Bill looked at the placemat, at the wagon, at the dinosaur with the teeth. He picked up his coffee and drained it. "What time do I need to put on the wig?"