Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCR29JA9KKD82BYVMBT2E33

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of the van, which was actually a laminated placemat from the venue's kids' menu. "East entrance is guarded," she said, tapping a maze printed beside a cartoon giraffe. "Two mothers. Possibly three." "Mothers." Bill swallowed. "Armed?" "Wet wipes. Juice boxes. One had a diaper bag the size of a duffel—could be anything in there." "And the presents?" "Stacked on a folding table under the piñata. Forty, maybe fifty units. Gift bags, boxes, one suspiciously large tricycle." Bill scratched his chin with the crayon he'd been using to annotate. "So we go in loud. Balloon animals, dead giraffe, whatever." "We go in as entertainment," Molly corrected. "You're the clown." "Absolutely not. I have a reputation." "You have a warrant and a wig." "That wig is human hair, Molly. I paid extra." "Then wear it with pride while I load the van." She rolled up the placemat. "You keep them singing. Three verses, minimum. Nobody watches the loot table during cake." Bill stared at the venue's inflatable castle, gently deflating in the drizzle. "What if a child recognizes me?" "From where?" "The last party." Molly paused. "How many parties have you done, Bill?" He counted on his fingers, then stopped at nine.