Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2H36RWCRMBD3X32S4J6EY3

The fluorescent lights of the All-N-One Party Supply flickered, casting a sickly glow on Molly’s face as she held up a glittery banner. “It says ‘Happy 8th Birthday, Kaleb.’ That’s our target. We go in at pinata time.” Bill, wedged into a too-small shopping cart, adjusted his fake mustache. “And you’re sure the haul is worth it? We’re talking about presents from eight-year-olds. I’m not cracking a rib for a LEGO brick and a pack of Fruit Roll-Ups.” “Bill, Kaleb’s mom is Cheryl Van Der Meer. The Van Der Meers. Her husband is a venture capitalist with a thing for rare minerals. The goodie bags alone have geodes in them.” “Geodes,” Bill repeated, flat. “So I’m getting clobbered by a bunch of sugar-spiked children for a sparkly rock. My therapist is going to love this.” “Your therapist thinks you’re a travel blogger. Focus.” Molly shoved a map of the community center into his hands. “Look. The parents will be distracted during the fire-breathing magician act. We slip in through the kitchen, swap the real presents with these.” She gestured to a stack of identical boxes. Bill peered at the map. “Why is there a trampoline in the middle of the room?” “Because it’s a party for a child, Bill. Now, the decoys. I’ve filled them with bags of sand and old copies of ‘InStyle.’ They jingle just right.” “Sand and magazines. That’s your master plan. And when Kaleb opens up a box of sand and a Paris Hilton article, what then? We’re not just thieves; we’re creating trauma. That kid will be in therapy by middle school.” “Better than a lifetime of entitlement. Besides, he’ll get a replacement unicorn pony from Amazon within the hour. Now, your job. You’re the Distraction Daddy.” “The what?” “You wear this.” She produced a bright orange clown wig and a giant foam finger that read #1 DAD. “You stand by the bouncy castle and start a slow clap. You demand a conga line. You get everyone watching you. I do the swap.” Bill took the wig. It smelled faintly of hot dogs. “I have a degree in art history. I spent three years planning the theft of a Caravaggio from the Uffizi. And now I’m the clown who claps at a bouncy castle.” “You’ll be the clown who gets fifty percent of a dozen rare mineral geodes. And a very nice gift card to Chili’s, because Cheryl Van Der Meer always keeps a Visa gift card in her purse as a backup present. I saw the receipt.” Bill sighed, stuffing the wig into his pocket. “Fine. But if I get glitter on my leather gloves, I’m renegotiating the split.” “Deal. And don’t forget the key piece. We need something to thank Kaleb for his hospitality.” Molly pulled out a small, gold-wrapped box. “It’s a Learn-to-Juggle kit. It’s got beanbags. Non-threatening.” “You’re leaving a gift for a child we’re robbing. That’s some kind of ethical paradox.” “It’s good karma. And after we’re done, we’ll disappear into the sunset with a trunk full of overpriced hobbies and a bonus gift card for baby back ribs.” She grinned. “Now, how do I look?” Bill looked her up and down. She was wearing a pastel pink sweatsuit and a tiara. “Like a low-budget fairy godmother with a felony.” “Perfect. Let’s go make an eight-year-old’s birthday unforgettable.”