Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KZKX36BVE5094FB24HG5DK

Molly pressed her face to the van’s windshield. “Bill, tell me that’s not a bouncy castle shaped like a dinosaur.” Bill squinted. “It’s a T-Rex. And it’s guarded by a man in a foam cheeseburger costume.” “Perfect,” Molly said. “Nothing says security like a guy who can’t feel his own elbows.” Bill lowered the binoculars. “We are not stealing from a birthday party.” “We are absolutely stealing from a birthday party. Look at those presents. There’s a table groaning under them.” “Groaning?” “Yes. I can hear the wrapping paper crying for help.” Bill sighed. “Molly, we agreed. No jobs involving children, ponies, or glitter.” “That was before I saw the loot. There’s a scooter the size of a small car.” “There’s also a clown doing balloon animals near the gate.” Molly grinned. “Even better. He’s the distraction.” Bill frowned. “What’s the plan? Walk in, shout ‘surprise,’ and leave with a bike?” “Close. We use the service entrance by the garage. You’re the grumpy caterer. I’m the festive assistant.” Bill scowled. “Why am I always the caterer?” “Because you have that resting scowl that says ‘I hate pizza and joy.’” “I don’t hate pizza.” “You hate sharing pizza. There’s a difference.” Bill muttered. “Fine. What do we do about the kids?” “Ah. Step one: we weaponize the piñata.” Bill blinked. “We’re hitting children?” “No! We’re hitting the piñata. Kids chase candy. We chase presents. Nobody gets hurt except maybe the piñata’s dignity.” Bill considered. “How do we weaponize it?” “I brought a remote-controlled pulley and enough string to rig a candy avalanche across the lawn.” “You brought string?” “I’m a professional, Bill. I also brought gluten-free cupcakes laced with—” Bill gasped. “You didn’t.” “Relax. Laced with sprinkles. Lots of sprinkles. Sugar rush equals chaos. Chaos equals cover.” Bill asked. “And the parents?” “Step two: fake pony. You text them about a ‘missing pony’ near the woods. Parents love a missing pony panic.” “There is no pony.” “Exactly. By the time they realize it’s a typo, we’re gone with the loot.” Bill looked out. “We need a getaway vehicle.” “Already covered,” Molly said. “I borrowed a ride-on tractor from the neighbor’s yard.” Bill stared. “A plastic tractor?” “A big plastic tractor. It tops out at four miles per hour, but it says ‘Farm Fresh Fun.’” “We’ll be arrested by a toddler on a tricycle.” “Only if the toddler has a warrant.” Bill exhaled. “Fine. But if a child hugs me, I’m keeping the present.” “Deal,” Molly said. She handed him a frilly apron. “Put this on.” Bill eyed the apron. “Why does it say ‘Kiss the Cook’?” “Because irony is our getaway driver,” Molly said. Bill frowned. “It also has ruffles.” “Ruffles are the universal symbol of trustworthy catering,” Molly said. “Fine. But if I have to say ‘Who wants cake?’ I’m adding hazard pay.” “Noted,” Molly said. “Now smile like you’ve never committed a felony.” “I’ve committed several felonies.” “Then smile like you’ve never been caught.” Bill groaned. “Ruffles it is.”