Run: 2026-09-23-01M36SK8BP48H03528QNVJ0RGB

Molly leaned back in her chair. "Bill, if this involves clown costumes, I'm leaving." He unfolded a napkin across the café table. "No costumes. Pure logistics. Look." "Saturday. Brad's kid's seventh birthday. Back garden. Presents get opened at four." "Thirty boxes minimum." "We go in at four-oh-one. One minute into the chaos." "How do we get in?" "Back fence. Three feet tall. I could trip over it." "How reassuring." "Good haul. That family gives nothing but savings bonds." "We're stealing from seven-year-olds." "We're stealing savings bonds from seven-year-olds. There's a difference." "There really isn't." "Everyone's distracted by cake. We grab boxes. Gone by four-ten." "I rented a van." "Already?" Bill nodded. "I pre-plan. You know me." "What if someone sees us?" "That's why you dress as the balloon-animal guy." "No. Not again." "One giraffe. That's all I ask." "Last time I did balloons some kid bit me." "That was the dog." "That was Brad's kid and he's feral." "Just avoid the feral one." "Fine. But I get first pick of the bonds." "What if the cake comes late?" Bill shrugged. "Then we eat cake too. Stay flexible." Molly sighed. "You are deeply unprofessional." "You agreed to clown work in Venice."