Run: 2026-09-10-01M25DKQYM2TRWN664JHX42KNW

Molly adjusted the van’s rearview mirror until she could see the banner through the rain: HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY, TIMMY. Inside, a dozen children screamed beneath a ceiling of balloons while a man in a dinosaur costume tried to prevent a cake-related riot. A piñata shaped like a cartoon doctor hung from the ceiling, already missing an arm. The parking lot smelled of wet asphalt, pepperoni, and poor decisions. Bill hated children, birthdays, and balloons. “Remind me why we’re robbing a six-year-old,” Bill said, wiping condensation from the window. “Toy stores have cameras,” Molly said. “You owe Vincent twelve grand.” “I owe Vincent nine.” “Interest.” Bill sighed. “What’s the plan?” Molly unfolded a napkin map. “We’re entertainers. I’m Princess Sparkle. You’re my mute knight, Sir Grunts-a-Lot.” “I’m not grunting.” “You’ll grunt when I kick you.” Bill studied the napkin. “Presents in the ball pit?” “Under it. They hide them until the parents stop.” “And the security?” Molly pointed at a teenager in a pizza slice hat smoking by the dumpsters. He was fifteen, underpaid, and currently losing a fight with a vape pen. “That’s Kevin. He’s underpaid.” “We just walk past him?” “We walk past him with confidence. A cloak.” Bill pulled a plastic crown from the glove box. “And this?” “Your tiara.” “I’m not wearing a tiara.” “Then no split.” He put it on. Inside, the party was louder than a blender full of bees. Molly strode through the door in a sequined cape, shouting, “WHO WANTS A MAGIC SHOW?” The children froze. A boy with frosting on his forehead pointed at Bill. “Why’s that man wearing a dress?” “He’s a knight,” Molly said. “Very progressive.” Bill grunted. Molly kicked him. He grunted louder. While Molly distracted the crowd by pretending to pull a rabbit from a hat and instead pulling out a tax audit, Bill crept toward the ball pit. He waded through plastic spheres, scooping wrapped boxes into a Santa sack. A toddler watched him from inside an inflatable castle. The toddler had the calm, judgmental stare of a tiny accountant. “Goo goo,” the toddler said. “Goo goo yourself,” Bill whispered. The toddler raised a juice box like a scepter. Bill froze. Somewhere behind him, Molly was leading a conga line of screaming children directly toward the emergency exit. The plan was working. That terrified him. Then Kevin appeared, vape pen in hand. “Hey. You can’t take the presents.” Bill considered his options. He reached into the sack, pulled out a small wrapped box, and handed it to Kevin. Kevin opened it. It was a plastic dinosaur. “Whoa,” Kevin said. “Cool.” Bill grunted, hefted the sack, and ran. Molly met him at the van. “How many?” “All of them.” “Even the one with the hamster?” Bill looked in the sack. Something inside squeaked. “That’s not a hamster,” Molly said. “That’s Timmy.” A small voice from the sack said, “I want cake.” Bill started the engine. “Next time, we rob a bank.” Molly nodded. “Banks don’t have ball pits.”