Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2H73M2M2HV5SMWK8NWSPGY

Molly adjusted the strap of her bag, a manila folder stuffed with party favors instead of blueprints. “Okay, Bill, run it by me again. Slowly. Like I’m a five-year-old.” Bill squinted at the hand-drawn map spread across the stained diner table. “We come in through the kitchen. The caterer’s a guy named Dave, and he always props the back door with a brick. We swap the brick for a different brick—one that’s exactly the same color but made of foam. Door won’t close, we have a silent entry.” “And then what? We waltz out with the goodie bags?” Molly picked a fleck of dried syrup off the table. “No, no. We hide behind the bouncy castle. There’s a seam in the fabric near the blower motor. I’ve already cut it from the inside. We stash the presents there, then we slip out during the piñata. Everyone’s distracted by a blindfolded kid swinging a stick at a paper donkey.” Molly tapped her chin. “What about the magician? That guy’s got doves. Doves are unpredictable. What if one lands on the bouncy castle and punctures it?” “It’s a reinforced vinyl castle. A dove’s not doing squat. But a kid with a lollipop stick could pop it, so we avoid the three-to-six demographic entirely. Stick to the perimeter.” Bill jabbed a finger at the map. “Here’s the gift table. It’s unguarded for exactly four minutes while the parents do the ‘happy birthday’ song. That’s our window.” “Four minutes to steal everything? That’s tight.” Molly chewed her lip. “What if somebody needs a diaper change? Parents always leave during diaper changes. Could be a wrinkle.” “We have a decoy.” Bill pulled a small, wrapped box from his pocket. It was crudely taped with a sticky note that read: “To: Birthday Boy, From: Your Secret Admirer.” “We plant this on the gift table. It’s empty. But it’s wrapped in the same paper as the rest. When they open it, they’ll think the real presents were never there. Just a practical joke from a weird uncle.” Molly stared at the box. “You spent money on wrapping paper? For a decoy?” “Dollar store. Used a coupon.” “Okay. Fine. But what if the birthday kid throws a tantrum? I’ve seen kids. They can lock down a whole party with a meltdown. Security hinges on cupcake distribution.” Bill sighed. “We’ve got backup snacks. I brought a bag of peanut-free gummy bears. If a kid starts screaming, I chuck a handful in the opposite direction. Chaos buys us time.” “And the parents? They’ll notice the presents are gone before we’re out the door.” “Not if we swap them.” Bill unzipped a duffel bag. Inside were identical-looking boxes wrapped in the same shiny paper as the ones on the gift table. “Empty boxes. We replace, we walk. They open them later, find nothing. Assume their kid already ripped them open in a frenzy and lost the toys. Standard birthday amnesia.” Molly nodded slowly. “You’ve put way too much thought into this. I’m almost proud.” “Almost?” “I’m still mad about the doves. They’re going to peck our eyes out.” Bill folded the map. “Fine. We bring a squirt gun. Doves hate water.” “You’re a genius, Bill.” “I know. Now pass me the syrup. I’m getting a pancake.”