Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GSYJSTRDJEA7NXC09Y824S

Molly unrolled the blueprints across the card table and weighted the corners with coffee mugs. Bill leaned in, toothpick bobbing. "Bradley Henderson's seventh birthday," Molly announced. "Saturday, two p.m." The security was formidable. A bouncy castle serving as observation post. A grandmother guarding the cake table, her reflexes honed by decades of buffet defense. Kevin the Magician and his dove, which allegedly could identify repeat offenders. Bill studied the diagram, jaw tight. The clown worried him. Clowns always worried him. "You robbed a casino dressed as a leprechaun," Molly reminded him. "Dig deep." The plan hinged on timing. During the birthday song, that sacred, prolonged ritual, every child's eyes would clamp shut with greed. Ninety glorious seconds of total blindness. Bill would slip through the balloon arch disguised as a very large father. Molly would descend through the neighbor's hedge line and sweep the present table. Contingency: the piñata. If all else failed, they'd whack it and grab whatever tumbled out, dignity abandoned somewhere on the lawn. They shook hands, professionals to the end, then argued twenty minutes about whose van smelled less suspicious to police dogs. Molly won. Bill drove anyway. "Balloons at dawn," Bill said, starting the engine.