Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GSW6KJX7CTYVE7498GNTCF

The surveillance van smelled like burnt coffee and Bill's third protein bar. Across the street, the Hendersons' backyard bloomed with preparation: thirty helium balloons, a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIMMY, and a bouncy castle the size of a small nation. Molly studied it all through binoculars with the calm of a surgeon and the morals of a raccoon. Between them, she and Bill had forty years of experience, two unfinished yacht schemes, and zero convictions, mostly out of professional pride. This job would be their masterpiece. She'd been casing the party for a week. She knew the gift table would sit on the patio, southeast corner, six feet from the fence. She knew the piñata was scheduled for three o'clock, which would pull every eye in the yard toward a dangling paper donkey. She knew the mother counted presents twice, because she'd watched her do it at a christening last spring, quick fingers, suspicious eyes, a woman after Molly's own heart. "Tell me the plan back," she said. "Two o'clock," Bill recited. "Balloon arch, gate, duffel bags, gone before the piñata." "Security?" "One golden retriever. His name's Biscuit and he once ate an entire meatloaf, so watch your lunch." Molly made a note anyway. Professionals respected all threats. Her favorite piece was the bouncy castle, which no adult in recorded history had ever watched. She'd tested the theory at three parties. The theory held. "And the clown?" Bill hesitated, glancing toward the backyard, where a man in a rainbow wig was testing a bicycle horn. "Freelance," Molly said. "Works for tips. I've got twenty dollars and a Smoothie King coupon." Bill looked at her with something close to religious awe. Then he reached for a fifth granola bar and stopped, which was how she knew. Twelve years of partnership had taught her every tell he had: the pause, the shoulder hunch, the guilty chewing. "Bill. How do you know the cake is chocolate fudge with the little race cars on it?" He withered into his jacket. "Timmy's my nephew," he said. "My sister married a Henderson. Christmas-card distant." Molly closed her eyes and counted to four, which was her maximum daily allowance. "You brought me to rob your own nephew." "His grandparents went nuts, Mol. Sixty presents. There's a Power Wheels in the garage." Something across the street caught her eye: a kid's bike with glitter on the handlebars, training wheels in the grass. She looked at it for a long moment. "Fine," Molly said. "You put one present back. Signed, Love, Uncle Bill." "So I get to go to the party?" "You're holding the door." "That's basically family," Bill said, already misty. "It's basically an accomplice. Cry during the happy birthday song and I'm leaving you there." "That happened one time." "The christening doesn't count if there was also a communion." Bill nodded, solemn as a soldier. In the backyard, the clown honked his horn twice, testing the wind, and somewhere under a tarp a Power Wheels waited for a better class of criminal.