Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GW0SKRNXFZ21XXF19QKK9N

Bill unrolled the blueprints across the kitchen table—hand-drawn in crayon, labeled TOMMY'S 7TH BIRTHDAY in bubbly letters, with a stick-figure burglar in the corner for scale. Molly rubbed her temples. "Tell me again why we're doing this." "Two hundred presents, Mol. Minimum. The kid's whole class is coming." "We're stealing from children." "We're stealing from parents who overcompensate. There's a difference." She leaned over the blueprint. "What's this circle here?" "Bouncy castle. Primary obstacle. Kids go in normal, come out feral. Six hours of sugar and bouncing? That thing is a powder keg." "And the balloon arch?" "Tripwire. Touch one balloon, the whole thing pops, and every kid in a ten-foot radius starts screaming. Screaming brings parents. Parents bring questions." Molly tapped the sketch of a man in a rainbow wig. "Who's this?" "The clown. Giggles. I've been casing him all week. Makes balloon animals, rides a unicycle, juggling routine at two o'clock sharp. That's our window. While he juggles, nobody watches the present table." "You've been watching a clown. For a week." "Professionalism, Molly." "Bill, it's a backyard party. There's no vault. There's no guards. There's a mom named Denise holding a juice box." "Denise is the real threat. I've seen her work. Eyes in the back of her head, and a folding chair with a direct sightline to the gifts." "Okay. Say we get in. Say we get the presents. Say we get past Princess. Then what? We fence two hundred copies of the same Frozen doll?" "Birthday parties are the last unguarded vault in America. Nobody alarms a Paw Patrol backpack." "Because nobody wants a Paw Patrol backpack." "Speak for yourself. I've got a cousin with twins." "Fine. What's the extraction plan?" Bill flipped to page two, where a stick figure in a ski mask carried a sack past a dog. "We pose as entertainers." "As what?" "Balloon artists." "We don't know how to make balloon animals." "I've been practicing." He produced a lumpy purple thing from inside his jacket. It might have been a swan. It might have been a giraffe with a head injury. Molly stared at it. "That's a snake." "It's a dachshund." "It's a snake, Bill." "The kids won't know the difference. Kids love snakes." "Kids love dachshunds. This is stupid." Bill straightened, wounded. "Do you have a better way past a German shepherd named Princess who is, quote, 'friendly but dramatic'?" Molly sighed and picked up a balloon. Four failed attempts and one ceiling-fan incident later, she held up something that was, undeniably, a snake. Bill beamed. "Natural talent. We're going to be the best duo this party has ever seen." "We're thieves, not entertainers." "Saturday we're both. You take the front door with the snake, I grab the presents while Denise is distracted by whatever that thing is." "It's a snake, Bill." "It's a gift that keeps on giving." Molly looked at the snake. The snake, frankly, looked back. Somewhere across town, Denise was probably moving her folding chair.