Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCR5SXYY71KV0Y95VVZ2QH6

The blueprints spread across the kitchen table were, technically, a placemat from the Fun Zone Family Restaurant, but Bill had drawn on it with a red crayon, which he felt lent the operation gravity. "So this is the ball pit," he said, tapping. "And this is the birthday table. Sixteen presents, minimum. Rich kid. His dad sells hot tubs." Molly stirred her tea without looking up. "You want to rob a seven-year-old." "I want to rob a seven-year-old's *guests*. There's a moral difference and I'd appreciate it if you respected it." "Explain the moral difference." "The presents haven't been given yet. Legally, they're in limbo. Nobody owns them. It's like international waters." "That's not law, Bill. That's not any kind of law." "It's maritime law." "There's no sea in the Fun Zone." "There's a ball pit," he said, "and I'd argue the ball pit is *spiritually* a sea." Molly set down her spoon with the patience of a woman who had heard him explain that shoplifting from self-checkout was "collaborating with a machine." She pulled the placemat toward her and studied his crayon scrawl, the wobbly arrows, the stick figure labelled CLOWN (HOSTILE). "Why is the clown hostile?" "Clowns are always hostile. It's the profession. You don't get into balloon animals unless something happened to you." "And this?" She pointed at a red blob near the exit. "Cake." "Why have you drawn the cake?" "Because after we get the presents out, I'm having a slice." "Bill." "Molly, I have thought about this for eleven days and I refuse to walk out of that building without cake. It's the one part of the plan that brings me joy." She rubbed her eyes. "Right. Talk me through the extraction." "Two bin bags. In, out, ninety seconds. You distract the parents." "How?" "You tell them you're an inspector." "An inspector of what?" "Bouncy castles," he said, with feeling. "Parents are terrified of bouncy castles. One mention of 'inflation compliance' and they'll follow you into the car park like ducklings." Molly was quiet for a moment. Outside, someone's car alarm went off and gave up. "You know what happens when we get caught," she said. "Not *if*. When. Because it's a room full of children, Bill, and children are the finest witnesses on earth. They notice everything. They have no shame. One of them will look at a police officer and say, 'That man had a bin bag and he ate my cake,' and that will be the end of us." "So we wear masks." "To a children's party." "Superhero masks. We'll blend in. We'll be *thematic*." "Whose party has a superhero theme?" Bill flipped the placemat over. On the back, in careful crayon, was an invitation, clearly stolen from a fridge: SUPERHERO PARTY! CAPES WELCOME! Molly stared at it for a long time. "How long have you had that?" "Eleven days," said Bill. "I was building to it." She finished her tea, stood, and reached for her coat. "Get the bin bags," she said. "And Bill—two slices."