Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQW0BDV2NAMSZR5XZFMH37

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the van and smoothed it flat with the side of her fist. "That's a placemat," Bill said. "It's a schematic." "It's a placemat from the Olive Garden. There's a breadstick on it." "That breadstick," Molly said, "is the bouncy castle. Now focus. The party starts at two. Cake at two-thirty. Presents get piled on the folding table here—" she tapped a marinara stain, "—by the fence, unguarded, because every adult in that yard will be watching a magician named Mister Wobbles pull a rabbit out of a hat." "I don't love that we're stealing from a nine-year-old." "We're stealing from *thirty* nine-year-olds. It's diversified." Bill chewed his thumbnail. "What's the birthday kid's name?" "Don't do that." "What's his name, Molly." "Tyler." "Oh, God." "Don't you dare humanize Tyler." "He probably asked for one thing," Bill said. "One specific thing, and he's been thinking about it since October, and we're going to take it in a duffel bag." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Last week you cried during a car commercial." "It was a good commercial. The dog waited by the window." "Bill. We have eleven dollars and a van that only turns left. Tyler's father is a *dentist*. That table is going to have four hundred dollars of Lego on it, minimum, plus gift cards, plus at least one envelope of cash from a grandmother who doesn't know what kids like anymore." Bill perked up slightly. "How much cash?" "Grandmother cash. Forty, fifty, could be a hundred if she's competitive with the other grandmother." "There's always a second grandmother," Bill admitted. "There's always a second grandmother." Molly reached into the van and pulled out a bulging garbage bag. "Now. Costumes." "What is that." "You're a clown." "I'm not being a clown." "You're a clown named Sergeant Giggles and you are going to walk through that gate, wave at the parents, and start twisting balloons into shapes while I go over the fence and load the presents into the wheelbarrow." "We have a wheelbarrow?" "We have a wheelbarrow because you stole a wheelbarrow last April instead of a television." "That was a good wheelbarrow." Bill held up the clown suit. It was orange, damp, and had a suspicious brown handprint on the hip. "I can't twist balloons, Molly. I don't know any shapes." "Do a snake." "A snake is just the balloon." "Then do a *long* snake, Bill, they're *nine*." She checked her watch. "Ninety seconds after Mister Wobbles says 'abracadabra,' every phone in that yard goes up in the air and we've got a clean window. You keep the kids on you. I take the table. We meet at the corner by the hydrant." Bill stepped into the clown suit, one leg, then the other. "And if somebody sees you?" "Then you scream, and you scream like a man who has genuinely lost a balloon animal, and everybody looks at you instead." "That I can do," Bill said quietly. "That I'm good at." Molly folded the placemat and slid it into her jacket. "Sergeant Giggles." "Don't." "Let's go make a memory."