Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9K95BQF4M1H7PX876XMPV

The rain hammered against the window of the safehouse—which was really just Bill's mother's garage—as Molly spread the blueprints across the workbench. She'd stolen them from the birthday planner's office three days ago, and they'd been worth every risk. "Okay," she said, tapping the paper. "The party starts at two. Bouncy castle here, cake table here, and the presents—the presents, Bill—are stacked on a table right by the sliding glass door." Bill leaned over the blueprints, chewing on a piece of licorice like it was a cigar. "So we're stealing birthday presents. From a six-year-old." "From Timmy Reginald Pierce the Third," Molly corrected. "Whose father owns half the diamond mines in this state and apparently thinks a six-year-old needs a present table roped off like it's the Louvre." "That's insane." "That's opportunity," Molly said. "You in or not?" Bill sighed, dropping the licorice. "I'm in. But I'm not wearing a clown costume again. Last time the balloons kept popping and everyone thought I was setting off firecrackers." "No clown costume. We're going as caterers." "Caterers." "Caterers. Nobody questions the guy carrying trays of chicken fingers, Bill. Nobody looks twice." He crossed his arms. "And how exactly do two caterers waltz out with an entire table of presents without anyone noticing?" Molly grinned, the grin that always meant trouble, and pulled out a second sheet of paper—a schematic of a rolling catering cart, the kind with three shelves and a false bottom. "We load the cart like we're clearing dishes. Bottom shelf, presents. Top shelf, dirty plates. We roll it right out the side door to the van." Bill studied it, impressed despite himself. "That's actually not bad." "Thank you." "But what about the kids? Six-year-olds notice things. They're basically tiny detectives with cake on their faces." "That's why we hit the table during the magician's act," Molly said. "Everyone's eyes are on the guy pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Nobody's watching a couple of caterers." "And if someone does notice?" Molly shrugged, tucking the blueprint back into her bag. "Then we improvise. Like always." "Your improvising got us locked in a walk-in freezer for four hours last month." "That walk-in freezer had a very nice cheese selection." Bill laughed despite himself, shaking his head. "Fine. Caterers. False-bottom cart. Magician distraction. What time do we need to be there?" "Noon. Setup starts at noon." "And the getaway?" "Van's parked two blocks down, disguised as a florist delivery truck." Molly zipped up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, already halfway to the door. "By two-thirty, we'll be halfway across town with a truck full of toys, and Timmy Pierce the Third will be crying into a bouncy castle." Bill grabbed his jacket, still shaking his head. "You know this is insane, right? We're stealing from a kid's birthday party." "Bill," Molly said, pausing at the door, "we're thieves. Insane is Tuesday."