Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1JA7YRY4JTWPBZA869E92F

Molly spread the blueprint across the kitchen table, smoothing out the crayon-stained corners. "Okay, Bill, pay attention. This is the Hendersons' backyard. The bounce castle is here, the snack table is here, and the presents—" she stabbed the paper, "—are stacked on this folding table by the gazebo." Bill leaned in, squinting. "Why is everything drawn in purple?" "Because I borrowed my niece's markers. Focus." "And why is there a unicorn in the corner?" "That's a guard dog. I'm not a great artist. Can we move on?" Bill straightened up, crossing his arms. "I just want it on the record that I have reservations about this job." "Reservations." "It's a child's birthday party, Molly." "It's the easiest score of our careers," she snapped. "No alarms. No cameras. No security except a clown named Bonkers, and I've seen his act—the man can barely juggle." Bill scratched his chin. "What's the take?" "Forty, maybe fifty wrapped presents. Cash inside birthday cards. And word is the birthday boy's getting one of those gold-plated tablets." "A gold-plated tablet. For a seven-year-old." "His dad owns three car dealerships. Don't ask me, I just steal things." Bill sat down heavily. "So what's the plan? We can't exactly stroll in. We're two grown adults." Molly grinned and reached under the table, producing a wad of bright fabric. "That's where the costumes come in." "No." "You're going as Mr. Wiggles, the party entertainer." "Absolutely not." "And I'm the face-painting lady." Bill held up the costume—an enormous pink rabbit suit with one ear permanently flopped. "Molly, I have dignity." "You stole a kidney from a hospital last spring." "That was business. This is humiliating." She thrust the suit into his arms. "Here's how it goes. You distract the kids with balloon animals at two o'clock. While they're swarming you, I load the presents into the van parked behind the gazebo. We're gone before the cake's cut." Bill examined the rabbit head doubtfully. "I don't know how to make balloon animals." "Just twist them. Kids are stupid. Make a snake." "A snake is just a balloon." "Tell them it's a sophisticated snake." He sighed, the giant rabbit ear drooping over his face. "And if it goes wrong?" "It won't go wrong." "It always goes wrong. Remember the aquarium?" Molly winced. "We agreed never to discuss the dolphin." "My point is—" "Your point is nothing. We're in and out in eight minutes. Fifty presents, a gold tablet, and enough birthday cash to lie low for a month. All we have to fear is a piñata and some judgmental parents." Bill pulled the rabbit head on fully, his voice now muffled and pathetic. "How do I look?" Molly studied him, the lopsided ears, the manic stitched-on smile, the eyes peering out from the rabbit's nostrils. "Terrifying," she said. "The children will weep." "That's not reassuring." "Just stay in character, Mr. Wiggles." She slapped him on the furry shoulder. "Today, we make crime history." "Today," Bill muttered, "I make balloon snakes."