Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2G0BJD8DTQJ4QAHC7NWCQM

“You’re telling me we have to dress like clowns?” Bill held up the floppy red shoes with genuine horror. “I have a reputation, Molly.” “Your reputation as a guy who once tried to steal a forklift wearing a banana costume,” Molly said, adjusting her oversized polka-dot bow. “Besides, kids trust clowns. They hand you their presents voluntarily.” “They hand you their presents because you’re doing balloon animals,” Bill grumbled. “I don’t make balloon animals. I make trouble.” “Then make a balloon sword. Distract them while I work the loot table.” Molly checked her watch. “The party starts in ten minutes. Mrs. Henderson’s son is turning six. There’ll be at least thirty gifts. All unwrapped. Easy pickings.” “What if the birthday kid cries?” “What if you stop being a baby and put on the nose?” Molly shoved the red foam sphere into his palm. “We’re professionals. Act like one.” Bill sighed and squeezed the nose. It squeaked. “If anyone from the syndicate sees this, I’m blaming you.” “Relax. They’ll just see a sad clown with a balloon giraffe.” Molly grinned. “Now remember: we’re here for the presents, not the cake.” “What’s wrong with the cake?” “Nothing, if you want to get caught with frosting on your chin. Focus, Bill.” He shoved the nose onto his face. “Fine. But I’m keeping the balloon animals.”