Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1J1RD28RBMB3X31BG9NMDD

Molly spread the blueprints across the kitchen table, anchoring the corners with half-eaten pepperoni slices. Bill stood behind her, chewing thoughtfully. "So," Molly said, tapping the paper, "the target is a seven-year-old's birthday party. Saturday. Three p.m." "Bit beneath us, isn't it?" Bill asked. "We robbed a casino last month." "And got chased by a man with a gun. This is safer." "It's a children's party, Moll." "Exactly. No guns. No lasers. No tigers. Possibly a piñata, but I'm hoping for a blindfold situation." Bill considered this. "Fair point. What's the venue?" "Henderson residence. Three-story Victorian. Bouncy castle in the backyard. Clown already booked." "A real clown?" "Balloon-twisting clown. Distraction one. You show up as the clown's assistant." "Again with the clown, Moll." "You hate clowns, Bill. It's a perfect cover. You'll be vibrating with rage, and the parents will think it's method acting." Bill sighed deeply. "And you?" "I am the Fairy Godmother." "From Cinderella." "From the off-brand rental company on Fourth Street. Thirty-eight dollars an hour, includes wand and a broken tiara." Molly slid a photograph across the table. A mountain of wrapped boxes towered beneath a banner reading HAPPY 7TH JORDAN! "Presents," she whispered reverently. "Estimated value: twelve hundred dollars in gift cards alone." "Twelve hundred—" "And a bicycle. A Razor scooter. A drum set." "Drum sets are cursed, Moll. You know this. My uncle lost a toe to a drum set." "That's why you're taking it. You throw the drum set in the bouncy castle. Chaos. Parents distracted. Children screaming. I grab the presents, swap them for a decoy bag filled with wrapping paper and a single sock." Bill nodded slowly. "And the getaway?" "Jeremy." "Jeremy's eight, Moll." "Exactly. Too young to testify. I told him he was helping the Fairy Godmother, and he'd get to keep the gift bags. He cried with joy, Bill. It was beautiful." "Who is Jeremy?" "The birthday boy's best friend. I met him at the park. I told him I was a researcher studying the emotional weight of presents. He believes everything. Eight is gullible." Bill raised his pizza slice like a champagne glass. "And if it goes wrong?" "Plan B: you set the bouncy castle on fire." "With what?" "Rage, Bill. Pure clown rage." Molly leaned back, eyes glittering. "Saturday, we retire. We take the loot, buy a condo in Arizona, and we never, ever speak of the clown incident again." "To Jordan," Bill toasted. "To Jordan," Molly agreed. "And his very, very confused parents."