Run: 2026-07-07-01KWZ2WWDWRXD8FGXG9QT3RPE3

Molly squinted through the binoculars at the bouncing castle. The suburban backyard blazed with fairy lights and the shrieks of eight-year-olds. Beside her, Bill rustled a bag of chips. She lowered the binoculars. "Okay, Bill. Run it down for me." Bill swallowed. "Right. We go in as a balloon animal guy and a fire breather." "Fire breather," Molly repeated flatly. "The kids love danger." He sounded hopeful. "Your aunt’s trailer park barbecue is not a qualification. Did you bring the helium?" He held up a deflated giraffe. "We’re set. I do a poodle, you do the pickup." "Wrong. The poodle is the pickup." Bill squinted. "No, the poodle is the distraction. I make the poodle, they watch, you grab the gift table." "Bill. Bill. Who is going to notice the gift table missing when I set the poodle on fire?" "You're not breathing fire. The fire is my thing." "You can't do fire. You set the garage on fire last week." "That was an accident. This is art." He gestured to the house. "I blow a flame, everyone screams, you dash for the loot." "And when the flame catches the helium tank?" Bill considered this. "...We run faster." Molly sighed, a sound of great and weary pain. "Plan B. We use the birthday boy." "We do not touch the children, Molly. That's a line." "Not touch. Engage. You tell him I'm the real Spider-Man. He'll follow me anywhere. We walk him to the snack table, I do a magic trick, you switch the gift bags with our empty ones." "He knows Spider-Man is a movie. He’s eight, not an idiot." "He wants to believe, Bill. They all do. That's the scam." She watched a mother wipe chocolate off a small girl's face. "Trust me. I once convinced a hedge fund manager he was a reincarnated pharaoh." "That's different. That guy was on mushrooms." "Exactly. Kids are just small, sober adults with worse impulse control." Bill chewed his lip. "Okay. But what if he asks you to shoot webs?" "Then I throw a handful of string cheese at his face. We're out the back before he finishes wiping it off." She clapped his shoulder. "Keep it simple. We walk in, we smile, we steal a mountain of My Little Ponies and LEGOs." "And if anyone asks?" "We're from 'Fun-Time Events'. I hid the polo shirts in the engine block." Bill looked at the greasy, wrinkled shirts. "They look... lived in." "They look authentic." From the lawn, a small boy pointed at their bush. A woman's head turned. Molly and Bill dropped flat. "Too authentic," Bill hissed. "Shut up and do the poodle."