Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD6EQGSX6NVR95VE6JR0EYS

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of the van, which was difficult because the blueprints were actually a crayon drawing of the Hendersons' backyard that Bill had commissioned from his niece for the price of two fruit snacks. "This is the target," Molly said, tapping a pink blob. "The Henderson kid's seventh birthday. Saturday. Two o'clock." "We're robbing a child's birthday party," Bill said flatly. "We're *redistributing* presents, Bill. There's a difference." "There really isn't." Molly ignored him. "Intel says thirty-two confirmed gifts. The grandmother is bringing a full-size trampoline. The uncle from Portland is bringing a PlayStation." "A trampoline," Bill whispered, suddenly interested. "Like, a good one?" "Don't get attached to the merchandise." "I'm getting a little attached to the merchandise." Molly rolled up the crayon map. "Here's the plan. You go in dressed as the entertainer. I've got you a costume." She held up a sequined jacket and a top hat with a drooping flower. "I'm a magician?" "You're a magician." "I don't know any magic, Molly." "Then learn one trick. You have four days. One trick, Bill. Preferably one that produces a diversion." Bill considered this. "I can make a coin disappear." "Can you?" "Behind the couch at my apartment, yes." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. While you dazzle the children with your couch coin, I'll come over the fence in the clown suit, load the presents into the jumping castle—" "Why the jumping castle?" "It's inflatable, Bill. It's a sack that inflates itself. It's the perfect getaway bag." "That's actually clever." "Thank you. Then we deflate it, drag it to the van, and we're gone before the cake is cut." Bill chewed his lip. "What about the kids? They'll see us." "Kids see everything and nobody believes them. A seven-year-old will tell his mother a clown stole his bicycle and she'll say, 'That's nice, honey, eat your hot dog.'" "That's bleak." "That's our business model." Bill put on the top hat. It smelled faintly of vinegar. "What if there's a bouncy castle guard?" "There's no such thing as a bouncy castle guard." "You don't know that. Rich people hire all kinds of things." "The Hendersons are not rich, Bill. They're comfortable. Comfortably middle-class people with a trampoline-loving grandmother. This is a soft target." "A soft target filled with forty screaming children hopped up on frosting." Molly paused. "Okay. That's a fair concern. Contingency: if the children swarm, we deploy the candy." "The emergency candy?" "The emergency candy." "You said that was for morale." "Morale is Saturday, Bill. Morale is a trampoline." Bill sighed, adjusted his sequined lapels, and pulled a nickel from behind Molly's ear. She stared at him. "How did you do that?" "Four days, Molly. I'm going to be a very good magician." "Where did you even—" "A magician never reveals his secrets." He pocketed the nickel. "Also, that's my nickel." "Get in the van, Houdini. We need to buy forty lollipops and a hand truck."