Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD859DQ5CBP9E40BBHZBA3C

Molly spread the blueprints across the sticky diner table. They were not of a bank, but of the Hendersons' backyard, complete with a bouncy castle and a table labeled GIFTS. Bill stared with reverence. "Bill, remind me again why we're robbing a six-year-old's birthday party?" He tapped the juice box station with a french fry. "Because, Molly, last week you said we needed a low-risk job with high emotional payoff." Molly squinted at him over her coffee. The plan had started as a joke after their last job lifting copper pipes from an abandoned car wash had gone sideways. Now Bill had laminated invitations. "I meant volunteering at a soup kitchen, not stealing Paw Patrol toys from Timmy!" Bill nodded solemnly, as if stealing Paw Patrol toys was a moral gray area he had long contemplated during his career of stealing car stereos and garden gnomes. "Listen, those presents are just sitting there, unwrapped guilt from parents who missed soccer games." Outside, rain hammered the diner window. Inside, a waitress refilled their cups without making eye contact, having learned not to ask about the diagrams that involved trampolines and tactical glitter extraction. "So our plan is what, we dress as clowns?" Molly hated clowns. She had hated them since age eight when one had popped her favorite balloon and laughed. The irony was not lost on her. "Worse. You're the clown. I'm the incredibly handsome magician who distracts the moms." Bill leaned back, clearly proud of his genius. He had spent three hours watching YouTube tutorials on balloon dogs and now fancied himself a master of distraction and mild animal cruelty via latex. "Oh great, so I get the red nose and you get the cougars from book club?" She crumpled her napkin and threw it at him. It bounced off his forehead and landed in his water glass. Neither of them moved to retrieve it, watching it slowly dissolve into papier-mâché sadness. "Exactly. While I make balloon animals, you grab the gift table and run." The bell over the diner door jingled as a family with three children entered, each child clutching a brightly wrapped gift. Bill and Molly tracked the boxes with predatory focus, suddenly quiet and professional again, calculating weight and possible LEGO content. "Bill, there will be fifteen sugar-crazed kids and one very tired dad. This is a deathtrap." Bill shrugged and ordered more fries, using ketchup to draw what he claimed was an escape route but looked suspiciously like a frowny face with a party hat on top. "Relax, I've got the getaway van. It's got the words 'Free Candy' crossed out and 'Free Hugs' written over it." Molly stared at the ketchup blueprint for a long moment, contemplating whether she should cut her losses, fake her own death, and move to Canada where birthday parties involved less felony planning. "We're going to jail, not even cool jail." They left a tip, stole the family's gift on the way out, and called it small practice.