Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GQFWYD0SB7KDMRHWJW7ZC7

The unmarked van had been parked outside Willow Creek Park since noon, which was two hours longer than any legitimate ice cream truck would have tolerated. Inside, Molly sat with binoculars pressed to her eyes and a leather binder open across her lap. The binder held a hand-drawn map of the pavilion, four laminated photographs, and a single red string connecting a picture of a bounce castle to the words PRIMARY OBSTACLE. Bill sat beside her wearing the snowman disguise from their December job, minus the nose, which had been lost in the line of duty. Across the lot, the party raged. A balloon arch framed a banner reading HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDY TYLER. Fifteen children swarmed the grass like piranhas in party hats, and a golden retriever named Biscuit worked the crowd for dropped cake, according to two weeks of surveillance. Bill ate a snow cone purchased strictly for cover, blue, which stained his teeth and destroyed his credibility as anything other than a menace. "That's the mark," Molly said, handing over the binoculars. "You're telling me the mark is six." "The mark is the gift table, Bill. Focus." He panned slowly across the yard. "There's a bouncy castle." "Which ruins all three of my entry plans." "What if I go in as a dinosaur?" He thumped the trunk, where the costume hung beside the crowbars and rope. "Kids' parties love a dinosaur." "You know what they call a grown man lurking at a child's birthday party?" "Guest of honor?" "An Amber Alert." Bill surrendered the binoculars. "Fine. How do we handle security?" Molly flipped a page. Per her notes, security consisted of Biscuit, who was bribable, and one father at the grill who was three beers deep and had already swung at the piñata once on general principle. "And the plan?" "We move during the piñata. The kids swarm the swing set, the gift table opens up, and we're gone in ninety seconds." "What's the haul?" "A Lego set, a tablet, and an unwrapped box the size of a microwave." "Unwrapped," Bill said. "That grandmother's playing with fire." Molly checked her reflection in the visor mirror and adjusted a ski mask that had seen eleven banks and one disastrous craft fair. Two weeks of casing had gone into this. She had attended the dress rehearsal posing as Aunt Denise, while Bill had been asked to leave the face-painting booth within four minutes. "And whatever happens," she said, "you do not engage the children. You gave one your phone number last time." "He seemed lonely." Bill sulked, but he pulled the mask down over his face, and for one moment the van contained two professionals: silent, focused, ready. "Masks on," Molly said, killing the dome light. "We've got a birthday to ruin." Bill's hand paused on the door handle. "Think there'll be leftover cake?" Outside, the balloon arch swayed, Biscuit barked at something joyful, and somewhere in that chaos sat a microwave-sized box with their names on it.