Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSJVG253RE3KB6PBEHA7F2N

Molly spread the blueprint across the table, smoothing it with the reverence of a surgeon prepping for transplant. Bill leaned over her shoulder, chewing a toothpick that had long since lost its flavor. "So this is it," he said. "The Hendersons' backyard. Ground zero." "Keep your voice down," Molly hissed. "We're in a library." "Nobody's here but us and that old guy asleep in the biography section." Molly tapped the paper. "Focus. The party starts at two. Little Timmy turns seven. There will be presents stacked on a table approximately here, beneath a banner that reads 'Happy Birthday Champ.'" "How do you know about the banner?" "I cased the joint. Posed as a clown." Bill straightened up. "You? A clown?" "I contain multitudes, William." He held up his hands. "Okay, okay. So we waltz in, grab the loot, and waltz out. What's the catch?" "The catch," Molly said gravely, "is forty children hopped up on sugar and a bounce castle the size of a small embassy." Bill paled. "Forty?" "At minimum. Plus parents. Plus a magician named Mr. Wiggles who, according to my reconnaissance, does not take kindly to competition." "I hate magicians." "Everyone hates magicians, Bill. That's not strategy." She produced two laminated badges. "We go in as entertainment. You're the balloon artist. I'm the face painter." Bill examined his badge. "It says my name is 'Sparkles McGee.'" "Embrace it." "I don't know how to make balloon animals." Molly stared at him. "We've been planning this for three weeks. When were you going to mention that?" "It felt like a now problem." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just twist them and call them abstract art. Children are idiots. They'll love it." Bill nodded slowly, gaining confidence. "Abstract art. Yeah. I can do menacing shapes." "Not menacing. Whimsical." "Whimsically menacing." "Bill." "Fine." He pocketed the badge. "So once we're inside, how do we move the presents without anybody noticing two grown adults hauling away a child's entire birthday haul?" Molly smiled, the slow smile of a woman who had thought of everything. "The piñata." "The piñata?" "At three o'clock sharp, they hang a piñata shaped like a unicorn. Everyone gathers in the front yard, blindfolds get distributed, and chaos ensues. That's our window. Ninety seconds of pure, candy-fueled pandemonium." "And we just—load up the presents during the piñata?" "Into the duffel bags disguised as bounce-castle equipment. We're gone before the unicorn's head hits the ground." Bill sat back, genuinely impressed. "Molly, that's beautiful. That might be the most elegant thing you've ever planned." "I know." "There's just one thing." "What?" He leaned in. "Are we really doing this? Stealing presents from a seven-year-old?" Molly was quiet for a long moment. Then she rolled up the blueprint. "No," she sighed. "No, we're not. I've gotten soft." Bill exhaled in relief. "Thank God. Want to go rob the mall like normal people?" "Yeah." She stood. "But I'm keeping the clown costume."