Run: 2026-05-20-01KS262AQEJCTCE239MZKM86CS

We are not robbing a bank, Bill, we are robbing a seven-year-old named Barnaby, Molly said, adjusting her faux-velvet elf ears in the rearview mirror of the getaway minivan. And Barnaby is packing heat, Molly? Bill asked, struggle-squeezing his massive frame into a neon yellow chicken suit. No. Barnaby is packing a pristine, unopened Lego Death Star and three envelopes containing crisp hundred-dollar bills from his grandparents. That makes him a target. But a bouncy castle? Bill groaned, his voice muffled by the plush beak. Do we really need to infiltrate the bouncy castle? It’s undignified. The bouncy castle is the drop zone, Bill, Molly said, turning to glare at him. The parents dump the presents on the picnic table, then they get drunk on cheap Pinot Grigio in the kitchen. Barnaby's sugar-addled friends act as our perimeter distraction. We grab the pile, bag it, and toss it over the azalea bushes. What about the clown? Bill asked, his eyes wide with genuine panic through the chicken eyeholes. You didn't mention a clown. He’s a freelancer named Bingo, Molly said, waving her hand dismissively. He’s ninety percent gin and ten percent balloon animals. He won’t be an issue. If he gets in your way, pop his unicycle. How do you even pop a unicycle? Bill muttered. With determination, Bill. With grit. Molly grabbed a shiny silver platter from the back seat. Here is your cover. You are the caterer’s assistant delivering the artisanal chicken nuggets. I am a chicken delivering chicken nuggets? Bill stared at her. Molly, that’s twisted. It’s psychological warfare. It’s genius, Molly corrected. Nobody questions a giant chicken wielding a tray of processed poultry. It creates a paradox of appetite. They will be too confused to stop you. And what are you supposed to be? An elf? At a June birthday party? I am a woodland fairy, Molly snapped, fluffing her glittery tutu. Barnaby’s mother requested a whimsical theme. I blend right in. I’ll make small talk with the mothers, complain about gluten, and pocket the jewelry on the hall table if the opportunity arises. We used to steal diamonds in Vienna, Molly, Bill sighed, leaning his head against the passenger window, which squeaked against his plastic beak. Now we are running a heist on a backyard in suburban Ohio. The Vienna job didn't have a bouncy castle, Bill. That’s because we had self-respect in Vienna. Well, self-respect doesn't pay my rent, and neither did Vienna, since you dropped the diamond down a storm drain, Molly pointed out, checking her watch. It’s two o'clock. Cake is served in ten minutes. That is our window of maximum distraction. Are you ready? Bill adjusted his wings, letting out a heavy, feathered sigh. I hate children, Molly. They’re just short, sticky marks, Bill. Now, go get that Lego Death Star.