Run: 2026-05-31-01KSYXDXMZC93P14CF41NBWZFT

Molly spread the blueprint across the table, smoothing it flat with the reverence of a surgeon. Bill leaned in, squinting at the crayon drawing. "This is a map of a McDonald's PlayPlace," he said. "It's the layout of the party venue, Bill. I had to draw it from memory." "You drew a clown with three eyes." "That's Pickles the Magician. He's a complication." Molly tapped the paper. "He does balloon animals at the two o'clock mark. That's our window." Bill folded his arms. "Let me get this straight. We're casing a seven-year-old's birthday party." "Theodore's eighth, actually. And do you know what an eight-year-old gets these days? Tablets, gaming consoles, a remote-control drone worth four hundred dollars. We're talking premium electronics, all gift-wrapped and stacked in one room." "And guarded by?" "Approximately twelve children and a bouncy castle." Bill rubbed his temples. "I have a bad feeling about the bouncy castle." "The bouncy castle is the least of your worries." Molly produced a second sheet. "Here's the schedule. Cake at one-thirty. Presents opened at three. We strike during the piñata at two-fifteen, when chaos is at maximum and every adult is filming." "Why the piñata specifically?" "Because, Bill, when twelve sugar-crazed children are swinging a bat blindfolded, no parent is looking at the gift table. They're looking at their kids, praying nobody loses a tooth." He nodded slowly. "That's actually disturbingly smart." "I have my moments." She slid a duffel bag across the floor. "Costumes. You're going as the party entertainer's assistant." Bill unzipped it and recoiled. "This is a hot dog suit." "It's a costume. Nobody questions a man in a hot dog suit at a children's party. You're practically furniture." "I can't bend my arms in this." "You don't need arms. You need to be a distraction. While Pickles fumbles his rabbit and I load the gifts, you run around being a hot dog. Children love that." Bill held the suit at arm's length like it was radioactive. "And if something goes wrong?" "Nothing goes wrong. We've accounted for every variable." Molly began counting on her fingers. "The magician, the piñata, the parents, the snack table—" "What about the kids?" She paused. "What about them?" "Molly, children are tiny and feral and they outnumber us six to one. They don't follow plans. They bite. My nephew once headbutted a police horse." Molly waved a dismissive hand. "Children are predictable. Offer them sugar, point at something shiny, done." "You said that about the Doberman last month. I still limp when it rains." "This is completely different. The Doberman didn't believe in birthday wishes." She zipped the blueprint into a tube. "Trust me. Forty-five seconds, in and out, and we're sitting on ten grand in toys by sundown." Bill sighed and stepped one leg into the hot dog suit. "If I die in this thing, I'm haunting you." "If you die in that thing," Molly said, grinning, "I'm selling the footage."