Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GX6648WMQ17A62AP69TGSG

The van smelled like cold pizza and regret. Molly spread the blueprint on the dashboard—a crayon drawing of 14 Maple Drive, the swing set helpfully labeled "guard tower." "Okay," she said. "Recon confirms the party starts at two. We go in at two-fifteen, during the clown." "The clown's a problem," Bill said. "Clowns see everything." "That's why we go in during the clown. He'll be making balloon animals. Nobody watches a guy making balloon animals. It's hypnotic." Bill tapped the drawing. "What's this circle in the backyard?" "Bouncy castle." "That's not a bouncy castle. That's a security perimeter." Molly rolled her eyes. "It's a bouncy castle, Bill." "Kids bounce in it. Parents stand around it. All attention funnels to one location. Whoever designed that party knew what they were doing." "Fine. The bouncy castle is a diversion. We ignore it. And the presents?" "Present table. Living room. Right window. Timmy's mom puts them out at one-thirty for the parents to ooh and aah." "How many presents?" "Twelve. Maybe fourteen. There's a big one shaped like a bicycle." Bill whistled. "A bicycle? We're stealing a kid's bicycle?" "We're stealing all the presents. That's the job." "It matters morally, Molly. A bike is a rite of passage. You steal a kid's bike, you're stealing a piece of his soul." "You stabbed a man in Reno." "He had it coming. He was a bad man. Timmy is seven." Bill nodded solemnly, the ethics apparently settled. Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "The bike stays. Everything else goes. Satisfied?" "Mostly. What's our cover?" "You're the entertainment." Bill went pale. "I'm the clown?" "You're a clown. Not the clown. The parents hired one. We intercept him at one forty-five—" "You want to jump a clown?" "We pay him fifty bucks to nap in the van. You walk in wearing his shoes. I go in as your assistant, Sparkles." "I'm not being called Sparkles." "It's on your badge. I made a badge." "I'm not wearing a badge that says Sparkles." "The badge is non-negotiable. It sells the character." Bill slumped in his seat. "Fine. Sparkles. Then what?" "Then the clown—that's you—announces he needs a volunteer. Kids rush over. I hit the present table. We're out in ninety seconds." "Ninety seconds?" "I timed it. During cake, every adult in that house is photographing a child. It's like a religious experience." "What about the piñata?" Molly froze. "What piñata?" "There's a piñata. Green one. Dragon-shaped. In the garage." "We don't need the garage." "Dragon piñatas are filled with the good candy, Molly. Full-size bars. You want to leave full-size candy bars on the table?" "We're thieves, not monsters. Grab the piñata. But if anyone asks, that was your call." Outside, a station wagon pulled up, balloons knotted to the antenna. Molly slid down in her seat. "That's the target," she whispered. Bill peeked over the dashboard. "There's a sign on the door. 'Private party. No clowns.'" He smiled for the first time all day. "This is the best job we've ever taken." "Put on the mustache, Bill. We're going in as caterers."