Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQRX25EE0J6B49FJR8CA7A

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the van and smoothed it flat with the side of her hand. "That's a napkin," Bill said. "It's a *schematic*." "It's a napkin from a Denny's, Molly. It's got syrup on it." "That's the moat." Bill leaned in. "There's a moat?" "There's a bouncy castle, and bouncy castles have moats, because the parents don't want the kids running off, so they ring the thing with those little plastic fences. Which, for our purposes, is a moat." "For our purposes." Bill straightened up and rubbed his eyes with both fists, the way he did when he was trying not to say something. "Molly. Sweetheart. Light of my criminal life. We used to do banks." "We did *one* bank." "We did one bank, and it was beautiful, and now we're stealing a Nintendo Switch off a seven-year-old named Braxton." "Braxton's turning eight, and he's got a hundred and forty guests, and each of those guests brings a present averaging thirty-two dollars retail. That's four thousand four hundred and eighty dollars of merchandise sitting on a folding table under a banner, guarded by one clown." "A clown." "Gerald. Party clown, twenty years' experience, bad knee." Molly tapped the napkin. "Gerald goes on at two-fifteen for balloon animals. That's our window. Every eyeball in that backyard swings to Gerald, and the present table becomes, functionally, unattended." "And the parents?" "Drinking. There's a mimosa situation on the patio. Mothers of eight-year-olds at a two o'clock party, Bill, they will not be operating at peak vigilance." Bill was quiet for a second. "How do we move four grand of Peppa Pig out of a suburb?" "Piñata." "Say that again." "The piñata comes in on a dolly. Big one, five feet, shaped like a dragon. I called the rental place pretending to be the caterer. It arrives at one-fifty, and it arrives *empty*, because they fill it on site." "You want to load presents into the piñata." "I want to load presents into the piñata, wheel the piñata out to the van as though we are removing the piñata for reasons of piñata safety, and drive away while a hundred and forty children watch a clown make a wiener dog." Bill looked at the napkin for a long time. "That's actually pretty good," he admitted. "Thank you." "That's the best thing you've ever said." "I know." "What are we wearing?" "Aprons. Nobody stops an apron at a children's party. An apron is a badge." Molly folded the napkin and slid it into her jacket. "You're on the dolly. I'm on the table. If anybody asks, we're with the bakery." "And if Gerald asks?" "Gerald won't ask. Gerald is a professional and he has forty minutes of material to get through with a bad knee." "And if a kid asks?" Molly opened the driver's door and paused. "Kids don't ask, Bill. Kids *tell*. Which is why, if a child engages you, you look them dead in the eye and you say, 'There's cake inside.'" "Is there cake inside?" "There's always cake inside." She got in. "Get the aprons."