Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEA9GVDHK581YFNYAJJTH2Y

The back room of the Rusty Spoon smelled like old beer and desperation, which suited Molly just fine. She spread the blueprint across the table—a crayon drawing of a house that she'd stolen from the birthday kid's own refrigerator. "Bill, look at this. Bounce house here. Present table there. Cake in the middle like some kind of sugary fortress." "You stole a six-year-old's artwork." "I stole *intel*, Bill. There's a difference." Bill leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "We're robbing a birthday party. Timmy Fitzgerald's seventh birthday party. I want that on record. When they write the true crime podcast about us, I want it noted that I said this was a bad idea." "They're not gonna write a podcast about a bounce house heist." "They will if we pull it off." "When did you get so philosophical about grand larceny?" "Since we started stealing from children, Molly!" Molly tapped the drawing where a stick figure clown stood next to what was either a dog or a very unfortunate horse. "The presents alone are worth four grand. Timmy's family is loaded. Grandma sends checks in birthday cards, Bill. Actual checks." "You're planning to rob a seven-year-old's grandmother." "I'm planning to rob a seven-year-old's grandmother's *money*, which is sitting in an envelope, unguarded, next to a pin the tail on the donkey game." Bill rubbed his temples. "How do we even get in? It's a birthday party. There's gonna be, what, twenty kids? Parents? A clown?" "That's where you come in." Molly slid a garment bag across the table. He unzipped it slowly, like it might bite him. Inside was a rainbow wig and a red foam nose. "No." "Bill." "Absolutely not." "You're the clown, Bill. You're Chuckles the Magnificent. I already told the mom you'd be here at two." "You booked me as entertainment?" "I booked *us* as entertainment. I'm your lovely assistant, Sparkles. While you're doing balloon animals and making children cry with your card tricks—" "My card tricks are excellent—" "—I'm gonna be in the present room, loading gifts into the trunk of the car through the side window." Bill stared at the wig like it owed him money. "This is insane. We rob banks, Molly. We rob jewelry stores. We do not rob a party where there is a pin the tail on the donkey game." "The banks have security guards. The jewelry stores have cameras. You know what Timmy's party has? A bounce house and a mother who's one mimosa deep by noon." "That's genuinely more depressing than reassuring." "Think of it as reconnaissance for a softer world, Bill. A gentler heist." "There is nothing gentle about stealing a seven-year-old's Nintendo Switch." Molly grinned and pushed the wig toward him. "Then don't think about it. Just put on the nose." Bill picked up the foam nose, turned it over in his hands like a man contemplating his own descent into madness, and sighed. "If I end up on a wanted poster in clown makeup, I will haunt you." "Deal. Now go practice your balloon dog. We roll at one forty-five."