Run: 2026-05-31-01KSYX9PNHR3YCSKGYBRF7583B

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the table and tapped it with one finger. "This is the perimeter," she said. "Bouncy castle to the north, snack table to the east, and a clown patrolling the western flank." Bill leaned in, squinting. "A clown? You didn't say anything about a clown." "His name is Mr. Giggles. He's the one variable I can't predict." "I hate clowns, Molly. You know I hate clowns." "Everybody hates clowns. That's what makes him dangerous." She pulled a juice box toward her and stabbed the straw in. "Okay. We breach at fourteen-hundred hours, right after the pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey." Bill folded his arms. "Why then?" "Because they'll be blindfolded, Bill. An entire room of distracted children, spinning in circles. We walk in, grab the loot pile, walk out." "And the parents?" "Sugar-comatose by then. They've been on their feet since nine. By two o'clock, the parents are basically furniture." Bill scratched his chin. "What about the birthday kid?" "Tcommy. Turning seven. He's the brains of the operation, so we neutralize him first." "Neutralize a seven-year-old?" "With cake," Molly said, holding up a small bag. "Extra frosting. He gets one slice, he's down for the count. Trust me, I've studied his patterns." Bill sat back, unconvinced. "I don't love it. Last job you said the dog was 'basically furniture' too, and I lost a trouser leg." "That was a Rottweiler, Bill. This is a labradoodle named Princess Sparkles. Apples and oranges." "And the presents? How big are we talking?" Molly's eyes gleamed. "Word on the street is the kid's grandfather is loaded. We're looking at a deluxe LEGO set, a remote-control helicopter, and—" she paused dramatically, "—a possible Nintendo." Bill whistled low. "A Nintendo. That's a clean retirement, that is." "We split it sixty-forty." "Sixty to me?" "Sixty to me. I made the map." "It's in crayon, Molly!" "It's an artistic choice. It blends in with the environment." She tapped the table again. "Now. You go in dressed as the magician they hired. I'll handle crowd control." Bill blinked. "I can't do magic." "You don't have to. Pull a coin out of an ear, wave a stick around, the kids'll lose their minds. Meanwhile I'm loading presents into the van." "And if the real magician shows up?" Molly smiled. "He won't. I booked him for a party across town. Different child entirely. He's currently driving to the wrong address as we speak." Bill stared at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "You know, when you lay it all out like that, it almost sounds—" "Genius?" "I was going to say 'illegal,' but sure." "It's a children's party, Bill. What's the worst that can happen?" Bill picked up a tiny paper hat from the table and turned it over in his hands. "Famous last words," he muttered, and pulled the elastic strap under his chin. "For the record, if that clown so much as looks at me, the deal's off." "Noted," Molly said. "Now grab the balloons. We've got a party to crash."