Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSJQYA8TK863R2KFBHSR4PY

Molly spread the crumpled blueprint across the table, smoothing it with both palms. "Okay, here's the situation," she said. "Birthday party. Saturday. One o'clock sharp." Bill leaned in, squinting. "Whose birthday?" "Does it matter?" "It matters to me, Molly. I like to know whose childhood I'm ruining." "Some kid named Timmy. Turning seven." Bill whistled low. "Seven. That's a lot of presents." "Exactly. That's why we're hitting it." She tapped the paper. "Now, point of entry is the back gate, here. The bounce castle blocks the view from the kitchen window." "What about the parents?" "Distracted. There's always a clown." Bill straightened up, his face going pale. "A clown?" "Bill." "You didn't say anything about a clown, Molly. We talked about this." "I forgot you had the thing." "It's not a thing. It's a perfectly reasonable fear of grown men in face paint who carry balloons and laugh for no reason." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. I'll handle the clown. You handle the gift table." "And where's this gift table?" "Living room. By the window." She drew a circle. "Stack 'em, bag 'em, out the back. We're gone before they cut the cake." Bill frowned. "We're not staying for cake?" "We are robbing the party, Bill. We are not guests." "I'm just saying, it's a lot of effort to skip cake." "There will be no cake." He sulked for a moment, then perked up. "What about the loot? What are we even getting? Could be socks. Could be educational toys." "At a seven-year-old's party? Please. We're talking action figures, video games, maybe a tablet if the rich aunt shows up." "The rich aunt." Bill nodded slowly, reverently. "There's always a rich aunt." "Now you're getting it." "And the getaway?" "Parked around the corner. Tinted windows. I'll have the engine running." Bill chewed his lip. "There's gonna be a piñata, right?" "Probably. Why?" "Just thinking. While everybody's swinging at the piñata, eyes closed, blindfolded—nobody's watching the table." Molly paused, then pointed at him. "That's actually good." "I have moments." "You have moments approximately once a year." "And today's the day." He grinned. "So I create a distraction at the piñata, you neutralize the clown, we clear the table, we vanish." "Like ghosts." "Like ghosts who steal from children." Molly stood, rolling up the blueprint. "Any questions?" Bill raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Yeah. One." "What?" "If there happens to be cake, and it happens to be near the exit, and nobody's looking—" "Bill." "It's a hypothetical." "No cake." "You're a hard woman, Molly." "I'm a professional." She tucked the blueprint under her arm. "Saturday. One o'clock. Wear something forgettable." Bill glanced down at his bright orange shirt. "This is forgettable." "That shirt is a felony all by itself." "It brings out my eyes." "It'll bring out the witnesses." She headed for the door, then stopped. "And Bill?" "Yeah?" "Stay away from the clown." He shuddered. "Don't have to tell me twice."