Run: 2026-09-23-01M36SPC7SXYFDRR8ENPKPVMVX

Bill unfolded the laminated blueprint across the hood of the car and tapped his finger on the giant inflatable bouncy castle. "This is where they'll hide the presents," he said. Molly squinted at the blueprint. "That's a diagram of the moon." "It's a diagram of the backyard, Molly." "The backyard has craters?" "That's the sandbox. Look, the point is, the presents will be stacked on the picnic table, right here, behind the obstacle course of seven-year-olds." Molly leaned against the car and crossed her arms. "Seven-year-olds. You sure you can handle that? Last week you got tripped up by a cat." "The cat was *lying in wait*." "It was asleep." "It was a tactical nap. Very professional. Now listen, we hit during the cake. That's when every parent and kid is focused on the candles. Some kid named Brayden is turning eight. Brayden." "I hate him already." "Everyone hates Brayden. I hate Brayden and I've never met him. But the hatred is key. It'll fuel us through the extraction." "What exactly is the extraction?" "We load the presents into the pony." Molly stared at him. "The pony." "Brayden's parents hired a pony. It's in the diagram." "That's a—fine. What kind of security are we looking at?" "Minimal. One balloon artist, potentially two clowns." "Two clowns?" "One confirmed, one rumored. The rumor came from the piñata guy, who I trust implicitly." "You talked to the piñata guy?" "I brought him coffee. He's chatty. Anyway, the clowns are the real threat. They're unpredictable. Unprofessional. No code of ethics." "Worse than the cat?" "Different kind of threat. The cat was physical. Clowns are psychological. You'll need mental preparation." "I'll manage." "Okay. So the signal for go-time is when they sing 'Happy Birthday.' Second verse—there's only one verse, but I'm counting the clapping at the end as a second verse. When the clapping starts, we move." "What if they clap irregularly?" "Then we improvise. We're professionals." "You stole a fire truck last month and drove it to a Denny's." "Into a Denny's. Through the window. But that was off the books. Tonight, we execute clean. I even have costumes." Bill reached into the back seat and pulled out two oversized animal onesies. "We go in as mascots. I'm the rabbit. You're the—" "A fox. Of course. The fox steals the presents. Real subtle." "The kids won't suspect a fox. They love foxes. There's a whole show about it." Molly took the fox costume and held it up. It smelled like animal crackers and defeat. "I have three questions." "Go ahead." "One: how do we get the presents out? Two: is there a backup plan? Three: are we really doing this?" Bill cracked his knuckles. "The presents go out through the side fence in the trash bags from the birthday boy's gift table. The backup plan is chaos—if things go sideways, I release the piñata early and everything descends into madness. And three—" He put on the rabbit head. His voice became muffled and strange. "Yes, Molly. We are absolutely doing this." From inside the rabbit suit, he added: "Put on the fox. We've got a birthday to ruin."