Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSK5K2YXGXN7YNE94YFPEXH

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the table, smoothing out the wrinkles with theatrical care. The paper was decorated with stickers of unicorns and a suspicious brown smudge. "This," she announced, "is the Hendersons' backyard. And this here is where they keep the loot." Bill squinted at the drawing. "Why does the treasure pile have a face?" "That's a piñata, Bill. Try to keep up." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "I just want it on record that I think robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party is a new low, even for us." "It's not robbing a seven-year-old," Molly corrected. "It's robbing approximately fifteen seven-year-olds. The presents, Bill. Think of the presents." "What's even in those presents? Building blocks? A doll that wets itself?" "Last month the Patterson kid got a tablet. A real one. And gift cards, Bill. Crisp, untraceable gift cards." She tapped the map. "Rich parents overcompensate. It's basic economics." Bill scratched his chin, clearly weakening. "Fine. How do we get past security?" "Security is one clown named Mister Bubbles and a mom with a juice box." "Don't underestimate Mister Bubbles," Bill said gravely. "Clowns are unpredictable." Molly ignored him and pointed to a stick figure in the corner. "I'll create a diversion. I'll dress as the magician they hired and 'accidentally' release the doves early." "They have doves?" "They will once I release them." Bill blinked. "Where are you getting doves?" "I have a guy." "You have a dove guy?" "I have many guys, Bill. That's why I'm in charge." She slid a second crayon drawing toward him. "While everyone's chasing birds, you slip in through the back, grab the gift table, and load it into the van." He studied the second picture. "Why am I dressed as a giant cupcake?" "Camouflage. There's a dessert theme." Bill set the paper down slowly. "Molly. I am a forty-three-year-old man. I have a criminal record in three states. And you want me to waddle into a child's party dressed as a baked good." "A delicious baked good," she said encouragingly. "Nobody suspects the cupcake." "Somebody always suspects the cupcake!" Molly leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Look. We do this clean, we walk away with maybe two grand in toys and gadgets. We retire from the small stuff. No more vending machines, Bill. No more dignity-destroying parking meter raids." That landed. Bill's shoulders sagged with the weight of a thousand quarters. "The vending machine thing did break me a little," he admitted. "I know it did, sweetheart." He sighed, picking up the cupcake costume drawing again. "If a single child cries, I'm out." "They'll be too busy chasing doves to cry." "And if Mister Bubbles makes a move?" Molly smiled, sharp and confident. "Then Mister Bubbles learns why they call me the Birthday Bandit." Bill stared at her. "Nobody calls you that." "They will after Saturday." He groaned, but he was already reaching for the costume.