Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCT726A5W298CNZK7GW241J

Molly flattened the crayon map across the van's dashboard and tapped a purple circle. "Read it back." Bill squinted at the scribbles. "We break into... a bouncy castle?" "Not break into. Gracefully infiltrate with seasonal cheer." Molly pointed to a stick figure wearing a crown. "Henderson estate. Backyard gala. One birthday princess, age eight, forty hyperactive guests, a magician named Sparkles, and a petting zoo truck that departs at four sharp." Bill pulled his knit cap lower, then shoved it up. "Molly. This is a children's party. There are juice boxes. Possibly a clown." "No clowns. One magician, and he's unemployed after we arrive." She shoved a printed gift blog across—photos of dinosaur-wrapped boxes. "See? Four-thousand-dollar gaming console. Limited-edition Millennium Falcon. Maybe a live turtle. Parents post every present online like idiots. We're not criminals, Bill. We're high-end redistributors with theatrical flair." "With crowbars?" "With misdirection." Molly pulled a crushed top hat from her duffel. "You're my assistant. I'm the illusionist. We mingle near the patio, do card tricks for tipsy adults, then I pull a quarter from some brat's ear while you sweep the gift table into black garbage bags." Bill put the hat on, crooked. "I look like a moron." "You look like seasonal staff. Now, perimeter security?" "There's a chihuahua." "Sir Barksalot. Already bribed with bacon bits. He patrols by being terrified of everything except our scent." Molly circled a crude goat. "Getaway vehicle is the zoo truck itself. We stash the loot in hay bales and drive away hidden among livestock." Bill rubbed his eyes. "We're riding with goats?" "Goats are surprisingly quiet if you feed them granola bars." "This is the dumbest plan you've ever had." "Last month you said that about the museum heist with the pigeon drone." "That was elegant engineering." "This is elegant with streamers and poor judgment." She handed him a plastic wand. "Practice your line." "What line?" "When I call for a volunteer, you shout, 'Pick the tall, emotionally damaged man!'" "I'm not emotionally damaged." "You're method acting." She turned the ignition. "We leave at dawn. Need to clock the automatic sprinklers." Bill adjusted the hat. "How do we actually enter? Front door?" "Bouncy castle tunnel. Kids are too sugar-crazed to notice two adults crawling out with duffels of Barbies." "I have a bad knee, Molly." "Then use the moonwalk entrance. It's dignified." "It's literally inflatable." "Fine. Caterer's side gate. We'll wear all black, blend in with the rented chairs." She glanced at him. "If kids scream?" "We scream back in deep authority voices. Confuses the small ones." "And the parents?" "We're distant relatives. Uncle Gary and Aunt Linda, boundary issues included." Bill gestured at himself. "I'm Black." "You're Aunt Linda's second husband. Very progressive household." Bill groaned. "What about the actual Sparkles? He shows up with rabbits." "Sleeping powder in his hat. Ordered online, technically legal in Delaware." "We're going to felony prison for a PlayStation wrapped in dinosaur paper." "No, Bill." Molly pulled into traffic, grinning. "We're cementing our legacy. The Birthday Bandits. Maybe we'll get a documentary." She tossed a bag of bacon onto his lap. "Now feed Sir Barksalot. He needs to imprint our smell." "He's a dog, Molly." "Exactly. Nobody ever suspects the dog."