Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSK4DM5QHJFDKMNMTVNVPN2

The blueprint spread across the table looked suspiciously like a child's drawing of a house, complete with a smiling sun in the corner. "Did you draw this?" Bill asked, squinting at the crayon lines. "I had to improvise. The kid's mom posted the party layout on Facebook," Molly said, tapping the page. "Bouncy castle here, snack table here, and the present mountain—right by the gift-wrapping station." Bill leaned back, crossing his arms. "We've robbed banks, Molly. Casinos. A yacht once. And now we're stealing from a seven-year-old named Tyler?" "Tyler's father is a hedge fund manager. Do you know what rich kids get for birthdays now? Tablets. Drones. Actual gold coins from relatives who don't understand children." "That's almost depressing." "That's *opportunity*," Molly corrected. "We go in disguised as the entertainment. I'll be the clown." Bill frowned. "Why do you get to be the clown?" "Because you can't do balloon animals." "I can absolutely do balloon animals." "Bill, last time you tried, you made something that traumatized a toddler. The mother called it 'an offense against nature.'" He waved a hand. "Children have no appreciation for abstract art. Fine. What am I, then?" "You're the magician. Big cape, lots of pockets. Nobody questions a magician carrying a giant bag. You stuff the presents in there while I distract everyone with the show." Bill considered this, nodding slowly. "The cape does have a certain dignity." "It has *capacity*. That's the point." She slid a foam nose across the table. "Now, the security situation. There's a golden retriever named Biscuit." "How dangerous is Biscuit?" "Extremely affectionate. He'll lick you into submission if you're not careful. Bring bacon. We weaponize the bacon." "We're bribing a dog with breakfast meat." "It's worked on tougher targets than Biscuit." Bill picked up the nose and put it on, his voice going nasal. "What's the escape plan?" "Ice cream truck out front. We load the gifts, drive off playing that little jingle, and no one suspects a thing. Everyone trusts an ice cream truck." "That," Bill admitted, "is genuinely brilliant." "I have my moments." He took the nose off. "And if a parent recognizes us? We've been on the news, Molly. Repeatedly." "Which is why," she said, producing two wigs from a duffel bag, "we commit fully to the bit. No one looks past a clown and a magician. We become invisible through sheer commitment to whimsy." Bill held up the magician wig—a flowing silver mane. "I look like a discount wizard." "You look like a professional. Now repeat the plan." He sighed. "I'm the magician. I distract Biscuit with bacon, fill the cape with loot, and meet you at the ice cream truck." "And I?" "You make balloon animals and steal a child's birthday." Molly beamed, sliding the foam nose onto her face. "When you say it out loud, it sounds almost wrong." "Almost?" "We're stealing a drone, Bill. A *child's* drone. I refuse to feel guilty about something that can spy on me." He stood, draping the cape over his shoulders. "Let's go ruin a birthday."