Run: 2026-09-02-01M1H5KKC3WTFH3JFWVAZ7ZVW9

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the van and smoothed it flat with both palms. "Okay, here's the layout. Community center, Saturday, two o'clock. Little Timmy Whitmore's seventh birthday." Bill leaned in, squinting. "Why does the map have glitter on it?" "That's the bouncy castle. I drew it in glitter to scale." "You drew a bouncy castle in glitter to scale." "Accuracy matters, Bill. That castle is going to be the hardest obstacle we've ever faced." He stared at her. "It's a castle full of children." "It's a castle full of children hyped up on cake and juice boxes. That's not an obstacle, that's a war zone." Bill pulled out a cigarette, remembered they were casing a children's party, and put it back. "Walk me through the plan again." "Fine. I go in dressed as Princess Sparklenose, the hired entertainer. You're my assistant, Sir Fumbles-a-Lot." "I'm not calling myself Sir Fumbles-a-Lot." "It's on the business cards already." "You printed business cards?" Molly produced a laminated card from her jacket. Bill read it aloud, his voice flat with despair. "Sir Fumbles-a-Lot and Princess Sparklenose, purveyors of magical children's entertainment. Five stars on Yelp. You faked Yelp reviews?" "Three of them. One mentions how I made a kid cry, which in retrospect was a strategic error." "Why would you include that one?" "Realism, Bill. Nobody trusts a perfect five stars." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. The presents. Walk me through the presents." "During the pinata portion of the festivities, all the children will be outside beating a paper donkey with a stick. You and I will be inside, moving the gift table haul to the supply closet." "What if a parent walks in?" "Then you juggle." "I can't juggle." "Then you'll learn by Saturday, won't you?" Bill sat down on the van's bumper. "Molly, I want to remind you, as your partner and your friend, that we are adults planning to steal birthday presents from a seven-year-old." "We're stealing presents from a seven-year-old whose father is Dale Whitmore." "The car dealer?" "The car dealer who sold me a lemon with the odometer rolled back and then laughed at me in court. This isn't a heist, Bill. This is karma with wrapping paper." Bill was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Okay. That, I can work with. What's in the pinata?" "Candy. Why?" "Because if we're doing this, I want a share of the pinata. I've always wanted to hit a pinata." "You can hit the pinata." "And the cake." "You want a slice of the cake?" "I want a whole cake, Molly. We're risking our freedom here. I'm not doing this for the exposure." "Fine. One cake. But if any child sees you take it, you're Sir Fumbles-a-Lot forever." Bill stood and offered her his hand. "Then we have a deal. For the lemon. For the cake. For Timmy's unearned prosperity." "That was almost poetic." "I've been practicing." Molly rolled up the glittery blueprint and grinned. "Van's gassed up. Let's go ruin a birthday."