Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GWCWV39DXFVPW0KHWHK3GZ

The van smelled like beef jerky and poor decisions. Molly spread the blueprints across the hood, pinning the corners with more beef jerky. "The target's a bounce house birthday. 42 Maple. Saturday, two o'clock." Bill studied the layout, chewing thoughtfully. "Security?" "A clown." He stopped chewing entirely. "Armed?" "He juggles knives, Bill. Professionally." Molly tapped the map with a screwdriver. "Presents pile up on the picnic table. Fifteen minutes into cake, the parents hit the wine. That's our window." "What about the kids?" "Kids can't testify. They'll say a ninja did it." Bill nodded slowly, impressed despite himself. "Blind spots?" "The balloon arch. But respect the piñata—one whack and every child within three blocks stampedes." Molly said this like a woman who had seen things, terrible things, at children's parties. Bill crushed out his cigarette on the curb. "What's the take?" "Thirty-eight presents." She produced a photograph of a smiling plastic dinosaur with dead, unblinking eyes. "Walks on its own batteries. Two-person lift." Bill rubbed his temples. "Twenty years of safecracking for this." "The T-Rex retails for two hundred dollars." Bill exhaled through his teeth, staring at the photograph, then reached for the blueprints. "Fine. I'll take the clown."