Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GRG6585NP10HQ7B8R71J7S

Molly spread the blueprints across the kitchen table, weighting the corners with a bag of gummy bears and a half-eaten sandwich. Bill leaned over her shoulder, chewing a pen he'd stolen from a bank. "Okay. Saturday. Fourteen hundred hours. Target: the Hendersons' backyard." Bill squinted at the paper. "This is a drawing of a bouncy castle." "It's a schematic. The bouncy castle is the primary obstacle. Nobody gets past one sober." "Molly, it's a kids' party." She held up a hand, silencing him like a general. "Entry point is the side gate. There will be a clown. Bill, look at me. There will be a clown." "I'm looking." "You cannot engage with the clown. Last time you made a balloon giraffe and cried." "That giraffe had soul." Molly let that pass. "Stay on task. We hit the present table when the cake comes out. Every eye will be on the candles. Musical chairs is the fallback, but kids at musical chairs are feral, Bill. Feral." Bill rubbed his jaw and paced. "What about the piñata?" "What about it?" "Crack the piñata at the right moment and it's total chaos. Kids diving for candy. We walk out with the whole gift table and nobody blinks." Molly stared at him the way she did whenever Bill showed a spark of talent. "That's... actually good. When's the piñata?" "Usually right before cake." "Then it's a double window. Piñata chaos plus cake. We could take the goodie bags too." "Goodie bags are beneath us. We're professionals." "Right. Sorry." Bill stopped pacing. "What about parents? There's always one dad guarding the presents. Arms crossed. Lawn chair." "Darren Henderson. Ex-accountant. Falls asleep during the magic show every year. Twenty-minute window while he dreams about spreadsheets." "You've done recon on his naps?" Molly tapped her temple. "I've done recon on everything. The magician pulls a rabbit at half past two. Darren's out cold by the dove part." Bill whistled, low and respectful. "You scare me sometimes." "Thank you. Getaway: the alley behind the garage. You have the wheelbarrow?" "Wheelbarrow's rusty. I was thinking Radio Flyer." "The wagon squeaks." "I'll oil it." "You said that before the Johnson twins' party. Every toddler in three blocks heard us coming." Bill sighed and dropped into a chair. "Fine. Wheelbarrow. But I'm keeping the wagon for sentimental reasons." "Keep it. Be at the gate at half past two with the wheelbarrow, a disguise, and zero emotional attachments to clowns." "What's my disguise?" Molly slid a paper bag across the table. Bill pulled out a party hat, its pom-pom drooping like a dead flower. "That's it?" "Blend in, Bill. It's a party. Best hiding place is plain sight." She snapped the elastic of her own hat under her chin and adjusted it like a beret. "Trust me. Nobody suspects a person in a party hat." Bill put his on slowly. Outside, an ice cream truck jingled past like an omen. "We're really doing this." "We're really doing this. For the children." "There are children at the party, Molly. That's the problem." "For the principle of the children."