Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GTG1CRE0R9BMADQAR41A54

The van sat across the street from the Wexler house, engine off, windows fogged. Through the windshield they watched a banner flap over the garage: HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY TIMMY. Molly spread a hand-drawn blueprint across the dashboard. "That's a bouncy castle," Bill said. "That's the perimeter defense," Molly said. "Kids inside it bounce. Parents can't hear anything over the screaming." "Whose birthday is it again?" "Timmy Wexler. Turning six. Presents are on a folding table by the balloon arch. We go in through the kitchen, grab the loot, and we're gone before anyone cuts the cake." Bill traced a finger along the diagram. "What's this circle?" "Piñata. It's a decoy. Swings like it's full of treasure, but it's stuffed with cheap candy and disappointment. Ignore it." "Smart. And the clown?" Molly's jaw tightened. "There's always a clown." "Can we take him?" "You don't take a clown, Bill. A clown takes you. One wrong move and he's honking that little horn, and the whole party's on us like a security system made of sugar." Bill pulled a notebook from his jacket. "Exits?" "Front door, back door, dog door. Avoid the dog door." "Why?" "Wexlers have a terrier named Princess. She's the real muscle in that house." Bill wrote that down. "What about the parents? Armed?" "With what? Juice boxes?" "Pools of them. Deadly if you slip." "Nobody's slipping. We wear the costumes I bought. Pony and pirate." Bill lit up. "Which one am I?" "Pirate." "Because of the eye patch?" "Because of the parrot on your shoulder. Monty's trained to peck anyone who asks too many questions." Bill glanced back at the macaw on its perch. "Hey, Monty." Monty stared at him with dead reptile eyes, then sidled to the far end of the perch. "He likes you," Molly said. "Timeline. Party starts at two. Sugar doesn't hit until three. Three to four is chaos—our window. By five they're melting down and the parents want everyone gone." "So we strike during the sugar rush." "We strike during the sugar rush. And Bill?" "Yeah?" "You touch the cake, we're done." "I wasn't going to touch the cake." "You were doing your cake face." "I don't have a cake face." "You've had it your whole life. This is a job. No frosting, no ice cream, and absolutely no hitting the piñata." "That seems like a personal rule." "It is now." Bill clicked his pen shut. "One more question." "Mm." "How do we know which presents are the good ones?" Molly reached into her bag and held up a cream envelope, sealed with wax. "Because we're going to RSVP." Bill blinked. "RSVP?" "Nobody suspects the guest who brought a gift. We set Monty's carrier on the table as our present, swap it for the big box, and waltz out the front door." Bill was quiet for a long moment. "Molly, that's evil." "That's heisting, Bill." She started the van and pulled away from the curb. "Now practice your happy birthday."