Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD568TN50G5RRFSQEVCP83W

Molly crouched behind a hedge shaped like a giraffe, binoculars pressed to her eyes. Across the lawn, a bouncy castle wheezed in the summer heat, and somewhere a clown was making balloon animals with the enthusiasm of a man who had stopped believing in himself years ago. "Target acquired," Molly whispered. "Twenty-three presents on the gift table. One of them is shaped like a bicycle." "A bicycle," Bill repeated. "We're stealing a child's bicycle." "We're stealing all of them. That's the job." She lowered the binoculars and glared at him. "Why do you look like that?" "Like what?" "Like a man reconsidering his life choices at a seven-year-old's birthday party." Bill scratched his neck. He was wearing a borrowed caterer's jacket that was two sizes too small, and the bow tie was choking him slowly. "I just thought we'd be robbing, I don't know, a bank. A museum. Somewhere with dignity." "There's no dignity in heists, Bill. There's only profit." Molly pulled a folded napkin from her pocket, on which she'd drawn the layout of the Hendersons' backyard in crayon, because it was the only writing utensil available at the diner where they'd planned this. "The gift table is here. The adults are all inside arguing about potato salad. The children are distracted by the magician." "What magician?" "The one you hired." Bill blinked. "I hired a magician?" "You were supposed to hire a magician. Please tell me you hired the magician." "I hired a magician's assistant. He was cheaper." "Bill." "He said he knows one trick!" "One trick won't hold twenty children for the four minutes we need." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. Somewhere behind them, a piñata burst and children shrieked like a flock of delighted seagulls. She checked her watch. "Fine. New plan. You go to the table. I'll create a distraction." "What kind of distraction?" "The kind that requires you to not ask questions." She stuffed the napkin into his breast pocket and smoothed his lapels, which did nothing. "Walk casual. You're a caterer. You belong here." "I feel like I belong in prison is what I feel." "That's the spirit." She shoved him toward the lawn. "Grab the bicycle one first. It's the big score." Bill shuffled off, tray of juice boxes in hand, moving with all the stealth of a grandfather clock. Molly watched him nod politely at a toddler. She watched him offer a juice box to the gift table itself. Then she took a deep breath, stood up, and screamed, "THE BOUNCY CASTLE IS DEFLATING WITH CHILDREN INSIDE!" It wasn't. But twenty adults came sprinting out of the house, the clown dropped his balloon sword, and in the chaos, Bill swept presents into a catering bag with surprising grace. They met at the getaway car four minutes later, breathless. "The assistant," Bill panted, buckling in. "His one trick? Making a catering bag disappear." Molly grinned and hit the gas.