Run: 2026-07-07-01KWZ5TY22AZN3WBRDGQYEADSG

The basement of Mama Lucrezia's Pizza Parlor smelled of garlic and poor decisions. Molly hunched over a table covered in blueprints, crayon drawings, and what appeared to be a suspiciously detailed map of a bounce house. Bill sat across from her, his massive frame threatening to buckle the plastic chair beneath him as he studied the plans through bifocals that had seen better decades. "Alright," Molly whispered, though they were alone. "The target is Timmy Henderson's seventh birthday party. Saturday, two o'clock sharp. I've cased the joint three times this week." "You went to a stranger's kid's party three times?" "I told them I was the balloon sculptor. Turns out I'm quite good at making poodles." Bill scratched his beard, something molten likely stuck in it from the calzone he'd consumed an hour prior. "This seems risky. Can't we just rob a bank like normal people?" Molly slapped the table with enough force to rattle their sodas. "Do you know what's at this party, Billy? A PlayStation 5. Lego sets still in their boxes. A mountain of Amazon packages that would make Jeff Bezos blush." "Those are all addressed to a seven-year-old." "That kid didn't even earn them. I have to steal for a living. Entitlement runs in families." Bill adjusted his bifocals, the lens fogging from his breath. "So what's the plan?" Molly unrolled a photograph with the flourish of a magician producing a rabbit. "I infiltrate as the entertainment, the 'Amazing Mollydini,' while you enter through the back fence disguised as a delivery driver. Once the children are distracted by my magic show, you bag the presents and make a break for the van." "What's the van look like?" "A unmarked white van I borrowed from my brother." "Your brother who drives an ice cream truck?" "Same vehicle, different signage. I scraped off the decals. Kids won't suspect a thing." Bill leaned back, processing. "Let me get this straight. I'm supposed to walk into a child's birthday party, steal their presents while you distract them with magic tricks, and escape in a former ice cream truck?" "When you say it out loud it sounds wrong." "It sounds wrong because it is wrong, Molly." Molly sighed. "Fine. I'll sweeten the deal. Seventy-thirty split." "Sixty-forty." "Done. But you're carrying the heavy stuff." Bill's silence was his acceptance. "One more thing," Molly added. "There will be a piñata. I need you to crack that thing open during my grand finale. The confusion will provide the perfect cover for your exit." "You want me to assault a piñata?" "I want you to decimate it. Show no mercy." "Against candy-filled paper mâché." "Exactly. Can you handle it?" Bill cracked his knuckles, a sound like snapping lumber. "For sixty percent of a PlayStation, I'll destroy that piñata and everything it stands for." Molly grinned. "That's the spirit. Now, let's practice your delivery driver impression. You sound too much like a criminal." "I am a criminal." "Exactly. Sound less like yourself." Bill cleared his throat, straightened his posture. "Package delivery for, uh, small child." "Better," Molly said. "Much better."