Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEA68DTTZHKVK54QMRMNTBY

The warehouse smelled like cardboard and bad decisions, which suited Molly fine since that was basically her autobiography. She spread the intel across a rickety table—crayon drawings, a birthday invitation shaped like a dinosaur, and a hand-drawn map of the Hendricks' backyard that looked like it had been sketched by someone having a seizure. "Absolutely not," Bill said, arms crossed like he was posing for a disappointed uncle portrait. "We are not robbing a six-year-old's birthday party." "Turning seven," Molly corrected, tapping the invitation. "And it's not robbing. It's redistribution. That kid's getting a drone, Bill. A drone. Do you know what I could do with a drone?" "Commit different crimes?" "Efficient crimes." She unrolled the map further, revealing a suspicious amount of detail for someone who claimed she'd "just peeked over the fence once." "Look, there's a bounce house here, which means chaos, which means opportunity. Forty kids high on juice boxes and cake, nobody's watching the present table." Bill rubbed his temples. "Except the parents. And the other parents. And possibly a clown." "I've got the clown handled." "How do you have the clown handled?" "I am the clown, Bill." She produced a red foam nose from her jacket pocket with the pride of a magician revealing a dove. "Bartholomew the Balloon Wizard, at your service. Booked the gig three weeks ago under a fake name." "You gave a fake name to a seven-year-old's birthday party." "I gave a fake name to *life*, Bill, this is just an extension of that." She twisted the nose onto her face and grinned like a woman who'd never once considered consequences a real thing that happened to her. "You're the delivery guy. Flowers, balloons, whatever. You wheel in, you wheel out, but the cart's got a false bottom." "A false-bottomed balloon cart." "State of the art. I built it myself out of a shopping cart and pure spite." Bill stared at the map again, at the crooked crayon rendering of what he assumed was meant to be a swing set but looked more like a war crime. "This entire plan hinges on children being distracted by a bounce house and cake." "Bill. Have you *met* children? They're the most distractible creatures on Earth. A butterfly flies by, that's forty minutes gone. We don't need a heist crew, we need a bounce house and a prayer." "And if someone recognizes you without the nose?" "Nobody remembers clown faces. That's the whole trick. You could rob a bank in that outfit and get away clean, long as you keep the nose on." He sighed the sigh of a man who'd signed on for jewelry heists and bank vaults, not juice boxes and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, but he pocketed the fake mustache anyway. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm blaming the whole thing on Bartholomew." "Bartholomew," Molly said solemnly, "would want it that way."