Run: 2026-09-02-01M1H576FKBFGMHV0A3AMW8K8D

The blueprints of the cardboard castle lay spread across Bill's kitchen table, held down by a coffee mug and a bag of gummy bears that Molly kept picking at. "Explain to me again why we're robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party," Bill said, rubbing his temples. Molly tapped the diagram with a pencil. "Because little Tommy Pemberton is getting a seventy-five pound toy robot, a bicycle, and according to my source at the bakery, a solid chocolate treasure chest. That's two grand in loot, minimum." "It's a birthday party, Molly. There will be parents there. Vigilant, caffeinated parents." "That's why we go as clowns." Bill stared at her. "Absolutely not." "Bill, think about it. We blend in. Balloon animals are the perfect distraction technique. I do the twisty poodle thing, you make a giraffe, and while the children scream with delight, we wheel the present table out the fire exit." "First of all, I don't make balloon animals. Second of all, I've got a face for hiding in shadows, not for clown makeup." "You've got a face that says 'trustworthy neighborhood clown,' which is honestly worse, but we'll work with it." She rolled up the blueprint and smacked him on the arm with it. "The party's Saturday, two to five p.m., Killarney Community Hall. Hiring a professional clown costs three hundred pounds, so nobody will blink when one shows up. Well, they'll blink at your nose." "What about the magician?" Molly paused. "There's a magician?" "Tommy's mum hired Magic Marco. I read the Facebook page. You said to do research, so I did research." "Marco." Molly's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Marco owes me money from a vending machine scheme in 2019. If he's there, this gets complicated." "Or," Bill said slowly, "we could just... not rob children." "Bill." "I'm just saying. We've robbed a casino, two jewelry stores, and a man who turned out to be an off-duty bishop. None of those involved party bags." "The bishop had party bags." "He had a spare mitre in his car, that's not the same." Bill sighed, looking at the blueprint again. "The robot alone. How much did you say?" "Seventy-five pounds retail. Plus the bike, plus whatever's in those pastel gift bags. We split it sixty-forty because I did the recon." "You always do the recon and always say sixty-forty." "And you always accept, because you have no head for logistics." Bill chewed a gummy bear, contemplating his life choices. "Fine. Saturday. But if I'm doing clown duty, I want the red nose with the squeaker. The squeaky one." "That's the professional model. Costs extra." "So does the robot, Molly." She grinned and pulled a small box from her bag, sliding it across the table. A squeak emerged. "God help me," Bill muttered, trying it on. "How do I look?" Molly studied him for a long moment. "Like a man about to steal presents from children at a birthday party." "Great." "Which is exactly what a trustworthy neighborhood clown should look like. We leave at one."