Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7F21RC833Q0HPCERSVYBD

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of Bill's rusted sedan, weighing down the corners with a brick, a donut, and Bill's hand. "Ow," said Bill. "Focus. The Henderson kid's seventh birthday. Two p.m. Saturday. Bounce house in the backyard, clown on retainer, and thirty-four confirmed presents." "How do you know it's thirty-four?" "I counted the RSVPs on the mother's social media. She posts everything, Bill. Everything. Last week she posted a photo of her lasagna with the security code visible on the alarm pad behind it." Bill squinted at the blueprints, which were actually crayon drawings Molly had commissioned from her nephew for two dollars and a juice box. "Why is the doghouse bigger than the house?" "Perspective isn't his strength. Listen, we go in as entertainers. You're the balloon animal guy." "I can't make balloon animals." "You've had three weeks to learn." Bill produced a mangled tube of latex from his pocket. "This was supposed to be a dog. The kids at the library cried." "It looks like a tax audit. Fine. New plan. You're the magician's assistant. I'm the magician." "Do you know any magic?" "I know how to make presents disappear." Molly wiggled her fingers. "That's the only trick we need. During the cake cutting, everyone's watching the kid blow out candles. Thirty seconds of darkness. We sweep the gift table into the bounce house, deflate it, and walk out with everything bundled like Santa's sack." "Where do we get a deflating device?" "It's called unplugging it, Bill." "Right. Right." He paused, peeling his hand out from under the donut. "Molly. Are we bad people? Stealing from a child?" "We're stealing from thirty-four children, technically. And no. We're redistributing. That kid already has a trampoline. I checked the registry. He has two trampolines." "Two?" "One's a backup. Rich people, Bill." They stood in silence, contemplating the crayon doghouse. "What about the clown?" Bill asked. "The real one." "Bubbles the Clown. I've studied his routine. He does forty-five minutes, takes a smoke break behind the garage, then does balloon swords. We time the grab during the smoke break." "What if he comes back early?" "Then you improvise." "I don't improvise. I panic and describe things. Last time I panicked I narrated a guard's haircut for six minutes." "It was a memorable haircut." "He had a gun, Molly." "A memorable haircut and a gun." She rolled up the blueprints and tucked them into her waistband like a general who'd lost every war but kept excellent maps. "Saturday, one-thirty. Wear something festive but forgettable." "Like what?" "You know how at parties there's always one guy nobody remembers inviting?" "Yeah." "Be that guy. That's your whole gift, Bill. You've been training for this your entire life." Bill nodded slowly, tucking the donut into his jacket for later. "You know, for once, I feel like the universe prepared me for something." "That's the spirit. Now get in the car. We need to case the party store." "For supplies?" "For a decoy piñata. We're going to stuff it with our old parking tickets. Let the kid learn about consequences early." "That's actually kind of generous." "We're complicated people, Bill. Get in."