Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE96QK13Q0MPA466JV8KBDT

The rain hammered against the window of the Dingy Spoon Café, and Molly Fitzgerald hunched over a crumpled napkin like it held the secrets of the universe. In truth, it just had a badly drawn floor plan of a suburban house, complete with a stick figure labeled "BOUNCY CASTLE" and another labeled "CAKE - DO NOT TOUCH UNTIL AFTER." Bill Hutchins slurped his coffee with all the grace of a man who had never once considered that other people existed. "So let me get this straight," he said, wiping foam from his mustache. "We're robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party." "Timmy Baxter's birthday party," Molly corrected, as if the specificity made it more dignified. "And we're not robbing Timmy. We're robbing his parents. Rich parents. Parents who apparently bought their kid a drone collection worth more than my car." "Your car is a bicycle." "Exactly my point." Bill leaned back, the chair creaking under the weight of his skepticism. "There's gonna be, what, twenty kids there? Parents? Maybe a clown?" "Magician," Molly said. "I checked the invitation. Posted it on the community board like an idiot." "Even worse. Magicians notice things. It's their whole deal." "He does card tricks, Bill, not surveillance." She tapped the napkin. "Here's the plan. You dress as a party entertainer—" "Absolutely not." "—a very tall, very intimidating balloon artist—" "Molly." "—and you distract everyone in the backyard while I slip inside and load the presents into the laundry hamper I'm bringing." Bill stared at her. "A laundry hamper." "It has wheels." "Molly, it's a child's birthday party. There will be, at minimum, four mothers who have never once looked away from their phones except to take pictures of said children. You cannot roll a hamper full of stolen Nintendo Switches past a woman live-streaming for her forty-two followers." "Then you'll have to be *really* distracting." "I don't know how to make balloon animals." "Nobody does, Bill. That's the beauty of it. You just twist things aggressively and call it a giraffe." He rubbed his temples, already regretting every decision that led him to this booth, this napkin, this woman. "And what if Timmy notices his presents are gone? Kids notice things. Especially about presents." "We leave one gift. Something boring. Socks, maybe. A book about sharing." "You want to traumatize a child with disappointment as a cover story?" "I want to retire, Bill. This is retirement money. Do you know what people spend on children's parties these days? It's obscene. It's basically asking to be robbed." Bill was quiet for a moment, staring into his coffee like it might offer a better plan. It didn't. "Fine," he said finally. "But I'm not doing a giraffe. I'll do a sword. Everyone loves a balloon sword." "That's the spirit," Molly said, already folding the napkin into her pocket like a woman who had just closed a business deal instead of plotting a felony against toddlers.