Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSJK9CA1AF063G976RQHH08

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the table, smoothing out the wrinkles with reverence. "Okay, Bill, walk me through it one more time." "We've been over this fourteen times." "And we'll go over it fifteen. Where's the entry point?" Bill jabbed a finger at the paper. "Bouncy castle. We come in through the deflation valve, roll across the lawn, and pop up behind the juice table." "And the presents?" "Stacked on the gift table. North wall. Right next to the piñata." Molly narrowed her eyes. "The piñata's a liability. Too many kids with sticks." "We avoid the piñata." "You can't *avoid* the piñata, Bill. It's a war zone over there. Last job, Donny took a candy-cane bat to the kneecap and limped for a month." "That was a Christmas party." "The principle stands." Bill sighed and leaned back. "Fine. We time our approach for the cake. Once they cut that cake, every kid in a ten-foot radius is hypnotized. We grab the loot and we're gone before they've licked their forks." "What about the clown?" "What clown?" Molly tapped a sinister stick-figure scribble in the corner. "Mr. Wiggles. Hired entertainment. He works the room, balloon animals, the whole bit. He's mobile. Unpredictable." "So we take out the clown." "We are *not* taking out the clown." "I didn't mean—" Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "I meant we distract him. You request a balloon giraffe, he gets to twisting, and that buys me thirty seconds at the gift table." "And if he makes a balloon sword?" "Why would he make a sword?" "Clowns are erratic, Bill. You don't know his mind." "Nobody knows his mind! That's the nature of clowns!" Molly held up her hands. "All I'm saying is we need a contingency. What if a parent spots us?" "We're dressed as parents." "You're wearing a ski mask." Bill paused. "I thought that added mystery." "It adds a *felony*, Bill. Take the mask. Wear the cardigan. Blend in. Sip a juice box. Compliment someone's potato salad." "I hate potato salad." "Then *pretend*, like a professional." Bill grumbled and pulled the cardigan from his bag. "What's the extraction look like?" "We load the presents into the gift bags they hand out at the door. Nobody questions a guest leaving with a goodie bag." "That's..." Bill blinked. "That's actually brilliant." "I have my moments." Molly rolled up the map. "One more thing. The birthday kid." "What about him?" "Her. Penelope. Turning seven. She's the target's daughter, and she does *not* miss things. Eyes like a hawk. If she clocks us, the whole operation collapses." "So we keep her busy." "How?" Bill grinned slowly. "We let her win at musical chairs." Molly stared at him. For a long moment, neither spoke. "Bill," she said quietly, "that might be the smartest thing you've ever said." "I have my moments too." She slung the bag over her shoulder. "Grab the cardigan. We've got a party to ruin." "For the record," Bill said, following her out, "I still don't trust that clown."