Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KA2T868JQRZ3BCKPSKNTCP

Molly drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of the dented minivan, watching a clown trip over a garden hose in the front yard across the street. A banner drooped from the mailbox: "Happy Sixth Birthday, Tiffany." "That clown is an amateur," Bill said from the passenger seat, his binoculars pressed to his face. "Bill, focus. We're not here to critique party performers." "Speak for yourself. That guy's balloon poodle has three legs." He lowered the binoculars and pointed at the house. "The presents are on the table by the bouncy castle. Twenty-three boxes. One shaped like a fire truck." "You can't possibly know that from here." "I have a gift for this." Bill tapped his temple, leaving a faint grease smudge. Molly sighed and reached into the back seat for the blueprints she'd sketched on a napkin. "We enter through the side gate at exactly 2:15, during the piñata. Blindfolded children swinging bats create the perfect distraction." "But the piñata is a unicorn. Unicorns inspire rage. I like it." She ignored him and traced a line on the napkin. "You'll create a diversion by crying near the snack table. I'll load the wagon with gifts." "There's a wagon?" Bill pulled a collapsible red wagon from under his seat and unfolded it with a squeak. "Already packed. It matches the party theme." "It's not a party theme. It's a theft." Bill waved a finger. "Wrong. The wagon is a gift delivery system. Very festive." He spun one wheel; it wobbled like a dying party hat. Molly rubbed her temples. "We are criminals, not caterers." Bill held up gaudy ribbon. "I also brought ribbon." "Details." Bill shrugged. "I also brought a clown wig for you." Molly shot him a look that could have curdled the juice boxes. "I am not wearing a clown wig." "Then you can't be my emotional support mime." Bill paused and adjusted his rainbow suspenders. "Actually, the wig is for the wagon. It dresses up the theft." Molly closed her eyes. "We are not accessorizing a wagon." "It's already wearing a bow. A wig completes the look." "I'm not your anything." She grabbed the wagon handle and tested its weight. "We go in, we fill it, we leave through the back fence. The van is parked on Maple." "Wrong. I moved it to Oak. More trees, fewer witnesses." "You left the van two streets over?" "Relax. I left a note on the windshield: 'clown transport vehicle.' Nobody steals from a clown." Molly tapped the wheel. "That's because clowns have nothing worth stealing, Bill. Except our van." Bill frowned. "The van has a full tank and a working radio." She stared at him for a long moment. The minivan smelled like onion and cheap face paint. Somewhere inside the party, a child screamed with joy. Bill honked his nose. "If you honk that one more time, I will steal your shoes," she said. Bill honked again. Molly grabbed the onion from his vest and threw it out the window.