Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GA5JFB9GE1JZRDKBK8XGX

Molly spread the blueprint across the kitchen table and weighed down the corners with half-empty coffee mugs. Bill leaned over, squinting, a jelly donut hovering dangerously close to the paper. "Watch the jelly," Molly said. "I'm watching it." "You're not watching it. It's about to drip on the bouncy castle." Bill took a defensive bite. "Okay. Walk me through it." "Right. The party starts at two. Birthday boy is one Tyler Bernstein, turning seven. Theme is dinosaurs." "Dinosaurs are hot right now." "Bill." "I'm just saying. Kid's got taste." Molly tapped the blueprint. "Backyard here. Gift table here, under the gazebo. Our window is when they bring out the cake. All eyes on candles, nobody's watching the loot." "How many gifts we talking?" "RSVP list says twenty-two kids. Average party gift runs forty bucks, but this is the Bernsteins, so figure sixty. That's thirteen hundred in merchandise, retail." Bill whistled. "For a seven-year-old." "For a seven-year-old whose dad is a dentist." "See, that's the thing that gets me. Dentist money. It's like, who's earning that? Kids with cavities. So really, we're stealing from the cavities." "That's beautiful, Bill. Write that on a card." "I'm just rationalizing." "Rationalize faster. We need a distraction." Bill chewed thoughtfully. "What if I dress as a clown?" "No." "Magician?" "No." "Mime?" "Bill, I swear on my mother, if you say mime one more time." "What about the dog?" Molly paused. "What dog?" "The Bernsteins have a golden retriever. Saw it on their Christmas card, the one we stole off their porch last December." "Gus." "Gus. Right. So we slip Gus some peanut butter, Gus goes nuts, Gus runs through the party, kids chase Gus, we grab the gifts and walk out the side gate like two respectable adults." Molly stared at him. "That's... actually not terrible." "I have ideas sometimes." "You have one idea. We've been using it for six years." "And it works." "It worked once. In Cleveland. Barely." Bill shrugged and finished the donut. "What's the getaway?" "Minivan. I rented a Sienna." "A Sienna. You got me riding in a Sienna." "Nobody suspects the Sienna, Bill. Cop sees a Sienna, cop sees a soccer mom. Cop sees your Camaro, cop sees a guy who robs children." "I robbed one child. One time." "You robbed a piñata full of twenties at a bar mitzvah." "That's not a child, that's a papier-mâché donkey." Molly rolled up the blueprint. "Two o'clock. Peanut butter. Sienna. We're in, we're out, we're at the pawn shop by four." "And the gift bags?" "What about them?" Bill looked almost shy. "Can I keep one? I like the little whistles." Molly sighed, the long sigh of a woman who had chosen her partner and would live with that choice. "Yes, Bill. You can keep a gift bag." "Thanks, Mol." "Don't mention it. Ever. To anyone."