Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1HGR37BNSEQ8P2A5CBHZQY

Molly spread the blueprints across the kitchen table, smoothing out the wrinkles with the reverence of a surgeon preparing for a transplant. Bill leaned over her shoulder, chewing a toothpick. "So this is the layout?" he asked. "This is it. The Hendersons' backyard. Birthday party for little Timmy, who turns seven on Saturday." Bill squinted at the paper. "Molly, this is a child's drawing of a unicorn." "It's a *map* of a unicorn. The presents are stacked right here, near the horn." She tapped the glittery paper. "Premium real estate." "And how exactly did you obtain this intel?" "I bribed Timmy's older sister with a candy bar. Kid drives a hard bargain. Wanted two." Bill straightened up, pacing the small kitchen. "Let me get this straight. We're professional thieves. We've cracked vaults. We robbed a casino in Monaco. And now we're stealing presents from a seven-year-old?" "Think about it," Molly said, eyes gleaming. "Cash, gift cards, the latest gaming consoles. Parents go all out these days. There's gotta be three grand in loot sitting on that lawn." "Three grand," Bill repeated, scratching his chin. "And the security?" "A clown named Bubbles, two dozen sugar-high kids, and Mr. Henderson, who I'm told falls asleep in his lawn chair by two." "So our biggest threat is a clown." "Don't underestimate Bubbles. I've seen his act. Man can juggle chainsaws." Bill paled slightly. "Chainsaws?" "Balloon chainsaws. But the commitment is terrifying." He sat down across from her, finally intrigued. "Alright. What's the plan? How do we get in?" Molly grinned and pulled a paper bag onto the table. From it she produced two enormous, polyester costumes—one a sad-looking dinosaur, the other a moth-eaten bunny rabbit. "Absolutely not," Bill said immediately. "You'll be the bunny. Kids love bunnies. You blend in, work the crowd, and when the moment's right—" "When the moment's right, I'm having a nervous breakdown inside a rabbit suit." "Bill." She placed a hand on his furry-future shoulder. "We waltz in as entertainment. Nobody questions the entertainment. We dance, we wave, we slowly back the van up to the unicorn's horn, and we load up while Bubbles distracts everyone with his act." "And if someone asks who hired us?" "You're allergic to questions. You're a method performer. You only speak Dinosaur." "I thought I was the bunny." "You're a bunny who *identifies* as a dinosaur. It's very progressive. Confuses everyone." Bill stared at the costume, then at the unicorn map, then at Molly's hopeful, criminal face. He sighed the sigh of a man who knew his dignity was already lost. "Three grand?" "Minimum." "And we split it fifty-fifty?" "Sixty-forty. I drew up the unicorn." "You bought a child's drawing for a candy bar." "*Two* candy bars, Bill. I made sacrifices." He picked up the bunny costume, examining a suspicious stain near the collar. "Fine. But if Bubbles comes at me with those balloon chainsaws, I'm using a toddler as a shield." Molly beamed. "Now you're thinking like a professional."