Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KRCFPETS23M52Z3QZSD68C

Molly tapped the crayon drawing taped to the dashboard and squinted at the address. The van smelled of cheap coffee and old pizza boxes. Bill was polishing his fake mustache with a napkin and humming the birthday song off key. “We are not robbing a bank,” Molly said. “We are robbing a seven year old’s birthday party.” Bill stopped humming. “Same difference. More balloons.” “The target is seven year old twins, the Hendersons. Party starts at three. Presents go under a table covered with a sheet. Parents are too busy with juice boxes to notice anything until cake time.” “Have you scoped the defenses?” “Two moms, one dad on his phone, a grandmother who naps in a recliner, and a bouncer named Timmy who is six and very serious about his job.” Bill adjusted the mustache. “I can handle Timmy.” “You can’t handle a goldfish,” Molly said. “Plan is simple. I go in as a late delivery from the party supply store. You go in as my very tired assistant.” “And?” “And we load the presents into the cooler. The cooler is already in the van. It looks like catering.” Bill frowned. “What about the sheet? It’s sacred. You can’t just yank presents off a birthday table. That’s bad luck.” “Then we lift the sheet,” Molly said. “Slowly. Like a magician.” “You want to steal the presents with a sheet? That’s just a blanket heist.” “It’s camouflage, Bill. The kids will think we are just moving the table.” He tapped the drawing. “This says ‘No grown ups in costume.’” “So we don’t costume. We look like boring delivery people. That’s the costume.” Bill sighed and looked at his reflection in the rearview. “My mustache looks sad.” “Take it off. You look sadder with it.” He peeled it off. “Okay. No mustache. What’s the exit?” “Back door. I called ahead, pretended to be the ice cream truck. They left it unlocked for the refills.” “Brilliant. And if we get caught?” “We tell them it was an accident. We thought it was a lost and found.” Molly checked her watch. “Two minutes out. You got the gloves?” “In the cooler with the tinfoil.” “You got the excuse?” Bill cleared his throat. “Sorry ma’am, we must have taken a wrong turn at the cul-de-sac. We were looking for Maple Street.” “That’s Elm Street.” “It’s a very Elm Maple Street.” Molly laughed and pulled the van into the driveway. The house was pink with a plastic slide on the lawn. Music was already leaking out the front door. “Remember,” she whispered. “Slow hands. No squeaky toys.” “Right,” Bill whispered back. “Steal quietly. Leave the cupcakes.”