Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KBX2BQEFJNNS011G2GB3ME

Molly squinted at the crayon-drawn map on the napkin. "The bouncy castle is the key. We enter through the inflatable dragon's mouth, cross the ball pit, and hit the gift table at exactly 3:15, during the piñata frenzy." Bill licked his fingers, still sticky from the jelly donut he'd stolen from a toddler's stroller. "And the clown?" "Paid off. He's going to cry in the parking lot on cue." "Bold. But what about the birthday boy?" "Six years old. Easily distracted by a juice box. We tell him there's a fire truck outside." Bill frowned. "What if he's a sophisticated six? Reads at a third-grade level? Asks questions?" "Then we improvise. You pretend to be a magician and pull a rabbit from your hat." "I don't have a rabbit." "Exactly. You'll pull out a handful of glitter and run. Kids are terrified of loose glitter. It's like mace for the under-seven crowd." Bill considered this. "I like it. But the presents—how do we haul them out? They're not all shaped like gift bags." "Wagon. Red, plastic, with plastic wheels. Makes a squeaky sound. I oiled it with vegetable oil so it sounds like a baby bird." "You oiled a child's wagon with canola?" "Olive oil. More artisanal. Less suspicious." "Genius." Bill paused. "What about the parents? There's always at least one mom who's suspicious of anyone not wearing a name tag." "We have name tags. 'Uncle Steve' and 'Aunt Karen.' We bring a fruit salad as cover." "Store-bought?" "No, homemade. We look more legitimate if we're struggling with Tupperware." Bill nodded. "And the piñata? You said during the piñata frenzy." "The piñata is a unicorn filled with candy and existential dread. When the kids start screaming, we'll have a window of maybe ninety seconds. I'll cut the ribbon on the gift table with a safety scissors I stole from a kindergarten." "Safety scissors? Can they cut ribbon?" "Not even a little. I'll use my teeth. But the safety scissors are a prop. No jury convicts a man with safety scissors." "I'm not going to jail, Molly." "Both of us, then. The scissors suck. But look, the real genius is the decoy. We leave a single, beautifully wrapped gift: a box of socks. Every kid hates socks. They'll be so busy shunning it they won't notice the others are gone." Bill chewed his lip. "What if the birthday boy opens the socks immediately and starts crying?" "Then we've created the perfect diversion. Crying child, parents scrambling, clown weeping in the parking lot, piñata guts everywhere. We slip away in a cloud of glitter and fruit salad." "It's insane." "It's perfect. The only flaw is the cake." "What about the cake?" "They'll cut it at 3:30. We need to be gone before the knife comes out. Nothing says 'I don't belong here' like two adults sprinting away with a wagon of presents while everyone sings 'Happy Birthday.'" Bill sighed. "Fine. I'm in. But I get to be Aunt Karen." "No, I'm Aunt Karen. You're Uncle Steve." "Why do you always get the better fake name?" "Because I bought the name tags." "Fine. But I'm eating the cake topper." "Deal. Now remember: the safe word is 'nap time.'" Bill stood, brushing donut crumbs from his shirt. "Nap time. Got it. Let's go steal a childhood."