Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ79N89M9GBC3FM1NRMMQ9C8

Molly smoothed the laminated blueprint across the sticky diner table. It was technically a crayon drawing of a suburban backyard, complete with a lopsided sun and a suspiciously aggressive looking trampoline. Bill leaned over his cold coffee and squinted at the wax markings. He tapped a grease stained finger against the blue crayon markings. Is that a slide or an extraction route. It is a slip and slide Bill and it is our primary ingress. Focus. The target is a six year old birthday party. Twenty guests. One papier mâché donkey. Approximately forty wrapped gifts stacked on the patio table. Forty presents. What are we looking at. Retail value. Mostly plastic junk. Maybe a console. We hit during cake. Sugar crash gives us twelve minutes. Molly circled the patio area with a red marker. What about security. Two mothers named Karen. One retired uncle with a bad knee. And a professional clown who takes his job way too seriously. A clown. You want me to tango with a clown. Bill cracked his knuckles nervously. You will not tango with anyone. You will be wearing the giant squirrel costume. Kids love the squirrel. Parents ignore the squirrel. The squirrel walks right up to the gift table and starts loading the duffel. I draw the line at rodent attire Molly. Last time I wore fur I shed for a month. It is polyester and it has pockets. Big pockets. While you are squirreling away the loot I will be inside handling surveillance. Molly slid a manila envelope across the table. It contained three blurry photographs of a swing set. She tapped the table twice. The waitress refilled their mugs. Steam rose between them. Surveillance. It is a backyard in Ohio. Nanny cam on the swings. Teenager streaming balloon animals. I jam the wifi with a baby monitor. Parents panic and check their phones. You move. What about the piñata. Leave it. Too much structural integrity. Last thing we need is a candy avalanche tripping the alarm. There is an alarm. The dog. Golden retriever named Biscuit. Easily bribed. I have premium beef jerky. He looks away before you unzip the bag. So to recap. I wear a squirrel suit. You bribe a dog with beef. We steal presents from children while they eat sheet cake. Bill stared out the window at a passing school bus. Exactly. Clean. Simple. Morally questionable but financially sound. I love it. What time does the magician arrive. Two thirty. We are out by two forty five. If we stay longer we get trapped in the musical chairs rotation. I am not losing a clean getaway to a game of sit down stand up. Molly folded the crayon blueprint into a neat square. Fair point. Do I get to keep the squirrel tail. Only if you stop asking questions and start practicing your waddle.