Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GCXT14ANAK8SVFD7YQCMD

The back booth of Denny's smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions, which Molly figured was appropriate given the circumstances. She'd spread a hand-drawn map across the table, weighing down the corners with a syrup dispenser, a ketchup bottle, and two half-eaten Grand Slams. Bill squinted at the diagram. A crayon-rendered bounce house dominated the northwest quadrant. "Tell me again why we're robbing an eight-year-old." "We're not robbing an eight-year-old," Molly said. "We're robbing approximately twenty-two eight-year-olds. Economy of scale, Bill. This is basic business." "The guest list is on the fridge. Kid's name is Tyler. His mom posted the whole party agenda on Facebook, including the PIN for the garage keypad, which, honestly, Bill, people deserve what they get." Bill stirred his coffee with a french fry. "What's our window?" "Pin the tail on the donkey starts at two-fifteen. That gives us a solid twelve minutes while every adult in the house is pretending to care about a blindfolded child stabbing a wall." "And the presents?" "Stacked in the dining room. Already wrapped. Already sorted. It's like they're doing our job for us." Bill frowned at a crayon squiggle that might have been a dog or possibly a threat. "What's this?" "That's Nugget. Goldendoodle. Allergic to peanuts, which is relevant because I'm bringing a Snickers." "Molly." "Relax, it's a Benadryl thing. He gets sleepy, not dead. I'm a criminal, Bill, not a monster." Bill sat back and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. Three years ago he'd been a regional manager at an office supply chain. He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten here, but he was pretty sure it started with a woman who ordered dry martinis at an Applebee's. "What about the clown?" Molly's eye twitched. "There is no clown." "The Facebook post said—" "I am choosing to believe there is no clown. Next question." "Okay. Exit strategy." She tapped the map with a butter knife. "Minivan parked here, behind the hedge. We load up, drive to the storage unit, spend the rest of the week fencing Nintendo Switches and those little dolls with the giant heads." "LOL Surprise." "I'm not surprised at all, actually. Kids love that garbage. Market's bulletproof." Bill studied her for a long moment. Molly had a smear of ketchup on her chin and the gleam of a woman who had committed fully to a bad idea. It was, he had to admit, a look that worked on her. "And if something goes sideways?" "Then we improvise. I brought two clown wigs, a fake mustache, and a eulogy, in case we need to crash a funeral instead." "You planned a backup funeral?" "Bill." She folded the map with the solemnity of a general. "I always plan a backup funeral." He dropped a twenty on the table. Outside, the sun was climbing, and somewhere across town, a goldendoodle was about to have the worst afternoon of his life.