Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQSX1Z54VAQ21HSFN51AG5

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of the van, smoothing them with the reverence of a surgeon, though the blueprints were technically a placemat from Pizza Chalet and the bouncy castle had been drawn in orange crayon. She had labeled the gift table LOOT MOUNTAIN and underlined it three times, which felt professional. Bill had come dressed as a clown. Not a subtle clown, either. He had committed to the bit before anyone approved the bit, and his wig smelled faintly of gasoline, which he refused to explain. "Nobody ever suspects a clown," he said, honking his nose with great solemnity. Molly looked at him for a long moment. She had once robbed a jewelry exchange in Antwerp with a partner who could crack a vault by listening to it breathe. Now she had a man in size nineteen shoes eating a cold slice over her floor plan. The plan was straightforward. Bill would enter at two, arranged as entertainment, and perform balloon animals for eleven seven-year-olds until their parents wept with gratitude. Molly would arrive as an aunt, vague and unquestioned, carrying an enormous empty gift bag. During the piñata frenzy—chaos, blindfolds, sanctioned violence—the presents would simply relocate. "Balloons in," she said. "Presents out."