Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GSBNKG2A3V7N1QGSEXY926

Molly lowered her binoculars and stared at the bouncy castle shaped like a dinosaur. "Bill, it's a birthday party." "Sixth birthday. Madison's sixth birthday, to be exact." Bill adjusted the ski mask on his head. "And inside that inflatable monstrosity of joy lies approximately thirty presents. Untagged. Unattended. Unprotected." "Tagged, Bill. Presents at parties are tagged. That's the whole point." "Details." Bill unrolled a blueprint across the hood of the van. It was a crayon drawing. "Details? Fine. That party is in daylight, surrounded by forty children, fifty adults, and a pony. A pony, Bill. Do you know what a pony does when it senses trouble?" Bill paused. "Attacks?" "It screams. Ponies scream, children scream, parents scream. Everyone screams at everything. It's a nightmare factory in there." "That's why we're going in as the balloon guy." He gestured at a trench coat hanging off the fence. "The balloon guy, Molly. Every party has a balloon guy. Trench coat, balloons, instant camouflage. I've got a guy who owes me." "Doesn't matter. What matters is the plan. Phase one: infiltration. Phase two: gift table acquisition. Phase three: exfil through the bounce house, which—get this—opens directly onto the alley." "You've been in there?" "Scouted. Twice." "Twice?" "First time, they wouldn't let me leave. Some woman gave me cake and made me sing. I did the thing, Molly. I sat in the tiny chair and I sang." Molly sat on the curb. "You want to pull a job with a man traumatized by a cake situation." "I am not traumatized. I am prepared. There's a difference." "You cried?" "I got frosting in my eye." "Frosting doesn't—" "IT DOES IF IT'S BLOWN ACROSS A TABLE AT HIGH VELOCITY, MOLLY." A jogger across the street sped up. "Okay," Molly said finally. "Balloon guy. Walk me through the escape." "Escape is the easy part. Kids chase balloons. We release forty balloons, chaos ensues, we walk out the side gate with thirty gift bags like we're the most helpful men at the party." "Two grown men carrying thirty gift bags." "Efficiency is a heist virtue." "It's a tipping-off point is what it is." Bill leaned against the van. "Molly, I've done banks. Casinos. A museum job in Geneva I legally cannot discuss. But those presents? Thirty of them? Mostly Lego?" "A kid that rich doesn't deserve Lego." "That's not a reason, Bill. That's just spite." "Spite is a heist virtue too." "Who's driving?" "Petey." "Our getaway driver is seventy-eight and thinks the van is an ice cream truck." "Which is why he keeps it stocked. Getaway with benefits. Try finding a driver in this economy." Molly sighed and pulled up her hood. "Fine. But if anyone makes me sing, we're leaving empty-handed." Bill cracked his knuckles. "Deal. Now let's go ruin a six-year-old's best day ever." "That's the spirit. Disturbing, but it's spirit." Bill slid the ski mask all the way down. "Besides, it's not stealing if the kid can't count past ten yet." "That's not how the law works, Bill." "It's how birthday law works."