Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GDXAHN6BZRMX61FG0MMCZ

The back booth of Denny's had seen better crimes, but none more ambitious. Molly unrolled a napkin across the table like it was the blueprint to Fort Knox. In reality, it was a crayon sketch of the Peterson residence, complete with a stick-figure clown she'd labeled "THREAT LEVEL: UNKNOWN." "Okay," she said, tapping the napkin. "Party starts at two. Cake at two-thirty. Presents at three." Bill squinted. "Why are we hitting a kid's birthday party, Molly?" "Because nobody expects it." "Because it's insane." "Because," she hissed, leaning forward, "little Timmy Peterson's dad is a hedge fund guy. You know what rich kids get? iPads. Drones. Those tiny electric Mercedes things. One of his cousins gifted him a Rolex last year. A ROLEX, Bill." Bill sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Fine. What's the play?" "You go in as the magician." "No." "Bill." "Absolutely not. I don't do balloon animals." "You don't need to do balloon animals, you need to distract thirty sugar-drunk eight-year-olds while I load the loot into the van." "Thirty?" "Approximately." "Molly, the last time I was around thirty eight-year-olds was at my nephew's communion, and I came out with a black eye and no wallet." She waved him off. "This time you'll have a wand. It's a whole different dynamic." Bill set down his mug. "And what are you going as?" "The caterer." "You can't cook." "I don't need to cook. I just need to wheel a cart past the gift pile and make it look heavy going out. Pizza in, presents out." "That's actually not terrible." "Thank you." "It's still bad. But it's not terrible." A waitress drifted by and Molly covered the napkin with both hands like she was hiding state secrets. When the coast was clear, she produced a second napkin. "Exit strategy," she announced. Bill read it upside down. "Is that... a bouncy castle?" "We cut a hole in the back. Stuff the presents inside. Deflate it. Roll it up. Walk out with a bouncy castle." "Molly." "What." "That's beautiful." "I know." "That's honestly poetry." "I KNOW." He leaned back, beaming, then slowly his face fell. "Wait. What about the clown?" Molly's eye twitched. "The clown is a variable." "A variable." "A contingency." "You have no plan for the clown." "Clowns respect other performers, Bill. It's a professional courtesy. You'll nod at him, he'll nod at you, and you'll both silently agree to stay out of each other's lanes." "That is the stupidest thing you have ever said, and you once tried to rob an aquarium." "The otters had it coming." Bill rubbed his face. "If I end up in a piñata-related incident, I'm blaming you." "Noted." Molly stuffed the napkins into her purse and slid out of the booth. "Saturday. Two o'clock. Don't forget the wand." "Molly." "Yeah?" "We're going to hell." "Probably. But we're going with a Rolex."