Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEAGQV7B5HPDW6N93D24WQW

The warehouse smelled like motor oil and stale pizza, which is where Molly and Bill always met when they were planning something truly stupid. "A children's party," Bill said, not looking up from his sandwich. "You want us to rob a children's party." "Not rob," Molly said. "Liberate. There's a difference." "Enlighten me." "Robbing implies violence. This is going to be smooth. In and out. Nobody even notices we were there until the kid opens his presents and finds a note that says 'thanks, buddy.'" Bill set the sandwich down like it had personally offended him. "You're leaving a note." "I'm leaving a note." "Molly. We are stealing from children. There is no note that fixes that." "It's not the kids' presents, it's the parents' money, and half these people bought garbage the kid's gonna forget about in a week anyway. We're doing him a favor. Simplifying his life." "By taking everything he owns." "By taking everything he was *given.* Ownership's a construct." Bill rubbed his temples like he was trying to physically push the headache back into his skull. "How many presents are we talking?" "Kid's turning seven. Rich family. Country club birthday party, bounce house, the whole circus. I'm talking forty, fifty gifts, easy. Bikes. Electronics. Somebody's getting a drone, Bill. A *drone.*" "And how exactly do two adults who are not on any guest list waltz into a country club party and walk out with a truckload of children's gifts?" Molly grinned, which was never a good sign. "Clowns." "No." "We rent clown costumes—" "Absolutely not." "—and we tell the staff we're the entertainment, the real clown canceled, tragic story, food poisoning, very sad—" "Molly." "—and once we're in, there's a gift table right by the entrance, unattended, because who's watching presents at a *seven-year-old's birthday party*, Bill? Nobody. That's the beauty of it." Bill stared at her for a long moment. "You want us to dress as clowns, infiltrate a private party, and steal a mountain of gifts in broad daylight, in front of forty children, while balloon animals are happening." "I didn't say balloon animals were mandatory." "They will absolutely ask us to make balloon animals." "Then we make bad balloon animals. Nobody questions a bad clown. They just feel sorry for him." Bill picked his sandwich back up, considered it, then set it down again. "This is the dumbest plan you've ever had." "You said that about the yacht." "The yacht plan *worked.*" "Exactly." Molly leaned back, satisfied, like she'd already won. "Look, we get the gifts, we fence the electronics, the bikes go to that guy in Queens who doesn't ask questions, and we're three towns over before anyone thinks to check the clowns." Bill was quiet for a second too long, which Molly knew meant he was already in. "I'm not wearing the shoes," he said finally. "The big floppy ones. I trip in those, and it's over." "Fine. No shoes. But you're doing the wig." "I'm doing the wig." "And the nose." "I draw the line at the nose being *red.* Orange." "Deal."