Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GX18QHCDAJ1TENXPXK7JD2

Molly unrolled her blueprints across the diner table: crayon renderings of a suburban backyard, a trampoline, a piñata shaped like a llama. "Twelve kids, one bouncy castle," she said, tapping the fence line with a swizzle stick. Bill rubbed his temples. Twenty years of safecracking, three continents, one unfortunate incident with the crown jewels, and this was where his career had landed: birthday politics. "I hate children," he said. Molly reminded him that children were the only witnesses who couldn't testify, what with the naps and the limited vocabulary. The plan was beautiful in its stupidity. The parents would be distracted by the petting zoo — a donkey named Marty, two goats, and something in a bowtie Molly refused to identify. Bill asked about security. Molly said security was six exhausted mothers with wine, and the real threat was a grandmother guarding the gift table like a customs officer. "Balloons at two. Clown at three," said Molly. Bill sat up. "The clown is an inside job?" Molly smiled. Four hundred dollars and a percentage of the cake. Professional standards mattered. The getaway vehicle was a minivan with a stick-figure family on the back. Nobody pulls over a man with car seats.