Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1HRJ830KAA06NR246ZFWN3

Molly spread the blueprint across the dashboard, smoothing out the wrinkles with a gloved hand. "Okay, walk me through it one more time." Bill sighed, fogging up the binoculars. "We've been over this six times." "Indulge me. We're professionals." "Are we, though?" He lowered the binoculars and gestured toward the suburban house, where a clown was currently juggling. "Because professionals don't usually target a seven-year-old's birthday party." Molly pointed an accusing finger at him. "That seven-year-old is the son of a hedge fund manager. Those presents are top-tier. We're talking premium electronics, possibly a pony." "You can't steal a pony, Molly." "I can steal anything, Bill. That's the whole point of being a thief." Bill rubbed his temples. "Fine. The plan. Again." "You go in dressed as the second clown—" "Why is there a second clown?" "There's always a second clown at these things. It's a status symbol." She tapped the blueprint. "While you distract the children with balloon animals, I slip in through the back, grab the loot, and we rendezvous at the bouncy castle." Bill stared at her. "I don't know how to make balloon animals." "How hard can it be? Twist, twist, dog." "That's not—" He stopped himself. "And what if a kid asks for something complicated? Like a giraffe?" "Then you make a long dog and call it a giraffe. Children are idiots, Bill. That's their entire charm." A burst of laughter erupted from the party as the first clown produced a bouquet from his sleeve. Bill watched, unimpressed. "This feels morally questionable," he said quietly. Molly turned to face him fully. "We robbed a retirement home last month." "That was different." "How?" "Those people had lived full lives! This kid hasn't even hit double digits!" "Which means he has more birthdays ahead of him. Plenty of time to recover." She handed him a red rubber nose. "Put this on." Bill held the nose between two fingers like it was radioactive. "I want it on the record that I objected to this." "Noted. Now objection-clown, get in there." He climbed out of the van, squeezing the nose onto his face. Molly rolled down the window. "Bill. Remember—stay in character." "I don't have a character!" "You're Sprinkles. A clown who's seen things. Go." Bill trudged across the lawn, his oversized shoes flopping against the grass. A small child immediately latched onto his leg. "Are you here for the magic?" the boy asked. Bill looked back at the van, where Molly gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Sure, kid," he muttered. "I'm here for the magic." Twenty minutes later, Molly's earpiece crackled. "Molly, we have a situation." "Did you get the presents?" "I got something better. They made me employee of the month. There's a certificate. And cake." "Bill. Focus." A pause. Then, softly: "The cake is really good, Molly." She closed her eyes and counted to ten. "I'm coming in. Save me a slice."