Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KBE4DXH87N3S94V74KGTXM

Molly unfolded the crinkled map of the community center across the sticky diner table, narrowly missing Bill's coffee. She tapped a purple fingerprint smudge near the bouncy castle room and waited for him to stop chewing his pancake like a man reconsidering every choice that had led him to breakfast with a professional thief. The map had been drawn in crayon by a five-year-old informant, and the unicorn in the corner was, according to Molly, a scale model of the gift table. Bill didn't ask why she trusted a kindergartner with surveillance. He had learned that questions only lengthened the planning phase. Bill finally swallowed. "You're sure the loot is in the Rainbow Room?" Molly nodded. "Mountain of glittery boxes, Bill. Three LEGO sets minimum." He poked the map with his fork. "No pony. I draw the line at livestock." "No pony. Just toys, gift cards, and a fog machine magician named Wacky Dave." She explained the rest while drawing an X over the side door. Bill would rent the inflatable dinosaur costume, the one with the broken tail, and stagger around outside the window during the second hour, when the sugar crash hit and parents chased toddlers. Molly would slip inside dressed as a party clean-up volunteer, clip-on badge already laminated. Bill frowned at a syrup stain shaped like a unicorn. He tried to remember which of his three ex-girlfriends had called him emotionally a bouncy castle. "Why am I always the dinosaur?" "Long, panicky, getaway legs." He sighed and wrote something in a tiny notebook. "Fine. But I'm not roaring. A kid threw a juice box at my snout last time." Molly leaned forward, lowering her voice. "The assistant is a former mall cop. She smells like cotton candy and suspicion." "Suspicion has a smell?" "Burnt sugar and cheap perfume." Bill took a slow sip of coffee and considered the bouncy castle emergency flap, the parking lot, the van idling behind a recycling bin. Molly's plan had the usual mix of absurdity and glue-gun craft supplies. The badge said Official Gift Checker. It was laminated. He could not argue with lamination. "And if a child sees you?" "I'm the present inspector. Confidence and a clip-on tie." "You're wearing a clip-on tie to a children's party?" "Professionalism, Bill. It matters." He set his mug down. "If there's a piñata, I'm out. I still have nightmares from the donkey job in '09." "No piñata. Wacky Dave does a live rabbit. Very distracting." Bill's face softened. "I like rabbits." "Bond with it while I commit grand larceny. Finish your pancakes." Molly slid the map toward her, folded it into a paper airplane, and launched it at the napkin dispenser. It nose-dived into syrup. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the unicorn dissolve into a sticky rainbow. Outside the diner window, a toddler in a tiara staggered past, screaming with joy, and Bill took it as a sign. He then left a small five-dollar tip because even criminals had standards.