Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2F795Q0NRNN23FYN86GF1A

“Okay, run it by me one more time,” Bill said, wiping his brow with a sleeve that smelled of old cheese and desperation. Molly sighed, tapping a diagram of the birthday girl’s backyard. “We go in as the cousin from out of town and the balloon delivery guy who got lost.” “I’m the lost balloon guy?” “You’re holding a balloon, Bill. A big one. Helium makes you less noticeable.” “My knees pop when I walk. They’ll hear me coming.” “They’re six years old, not bomb-sniffing dogs. Focus. The presents are in the gazebo. I distract Aunt Brenda by crying about my cat. You sweep the loot into the party-favor bags.” “What if the cat story gets me choked up? I’m sensitive.” “You don’t have a cat.” “I could borrow one. Make the lie airtight.” “No. You take the presents. I take the cake.” “The cake? That’s the mission? Sugar?” “That’s a two-hundred-dollar fondant atrocity shaped like a unicorn. We’re pawn shops, Bill, not saints. And when the chaos hits—the sugar crash, the tears, the piñata—we slip out the side gate.” “Which side gate?” “The one without the hysterical mother. You remembered the fake smile, right?” “I’m using it right now.” “That’s a panic-stricken grimace. Try again.”