Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GRARBVEE9VYQX17JD7W5M3

The van smelled like old balloons and regret. Molly had pinned the blueprint to the wall with a juice box straw, and Bill studied it by lantern light, his optimism quietly filing for divorce. It was hand-drawn. In crayon. By a seven-year-old. It read TOMMY'S 7TH BIRTHDAY BASH in bubble letters. "This is the intel?" he said. "Best I could get. The birthday boy has loose lips and a glitter glue budget." Bill leaned in. The bouncy castle in the corner was ringed with angry scribbles. "You've labeled the bouncy castle 'fortress of solitude.'" "That's the perimeter. Kids go in, kids don't come out. We hit the gift table during the piñata." He said the word the way other men said landmine. "You want to run a heist during the piñata." "Blindfolded children swinging wildly. It's chaos, it's cover, it's poetry." He rubbed his temples, where he kept his last good years. "And the clown?" Her jaw tightened. The clown had been their inside man, hired for four hundred dollars and a family-size bag of Funyuns. He'd skipped town, leaving one oversized shoe and a note that said SORRY. "Chuckles is in the wind," she said. "Chuckles was the plan." "Chuckles was a man inside a costume. Plans change." Bill let that settle. So: no clown. Two childless adults walking into a party in—he checked the map—disguises. She'd drawn him with a mustache. "I can't grow a mustache, Molly. You've seen my face." "It's a disguise, not a documentary." "And you gave yourself a cowboy hat." "Hats are disorienting. No one questions a cowboy." He stared at her. She stared at the map like it was the Mona Lisa. "Fine. Walk me through the gift table." "Twelve presents minimum, per Tommy's schoolyard bragging. A Nintendo thing, a bike, something called a Hatchimal, which I researched and still don't understand." "Security?" "One labradoodle named Mr. Wiggles. Low threat, high energy. I'm bringing bacon." "And the mother?" Molly paused, and Bill knew they'd reached the heart of it. Deborah. Deborah who counted presents aloud at the door. Deborah who, legend said, had once chased a mailman over a misdelivered coupon. "She doesn't miss anything. She made a spreadsheet." "A spreadsheet." "Laminated. There's a column matching cards to gifts." Bill looked at the van ceiling, where a forgotten streamer curled like a question mark. "Then how do we move the presents?" "Garbage bags. One real present in each so the bag keeps its shape. We leave during the cake, when every kid in that yard is having a sugar event the block will talk about for years." "We're stealing from children." "We're redistributing joy." "You said that about the casino." "And the casino had joy, didn't it?" He had no answer, which she took as agreement. She rolled up the blueprint and tapped his chest with it like a sword. "Van leaves at two. Bring the bacon. Bring the hat." "Do I have to wear the hat?" Molly smiled the smile of a woman who had already won. "Nobody questions a cowboy, Bill."