Run: 2026-09-23-01M36SRN7WSSJ12J8GBAJDRZ26

Molly spread a napkin across the diner table and drew a lopsided rectangle with a mustard bottle. "That's the Henderson house," she said. Bill squinted at the napkin. "Why does it look like a potato?" "Because I'm using a condiment, Bill. Focus." "Right. Potato-shaped house. Got it. What's the play?" "Saturday. Little Timmy Henderson turns seven. His parents are throwing a party at two in the afternoon. Approximately twenty-two children in attendance. Grandparents, aunts, uncles. And every single one of those kids is bringing a present." "How do we know this?" "Because it's a birthday party and that's how birthday parties work. I checked the invite. It said clearly — 'No need to bring a gift, your presence is enough.' Which means everyone is absolutely bringing a gift. Guilty parents go big." Bill leaned back and crossed his arms. "So we're robbing children's presents." "We are liberating consumer goods from a poorly secured residential dwelling during a window of distracted supervision. The children are incidental." "They don't sound incidental." "They're kids, Bill. They don't even know what half of these presents are. Do you think a six-year-old needs a steam mop?" "Who's bringing a steam mop to a kid's party?" "Uncle Gerald. He brings household appliances to every event. Last Christmas he gave my nephew a rice cooker." "Okay. Walk me through the entry." "The party starts at two. By two-fifteen, those kids are hopped up on juice boxes and sheet cake. By two-thirty, at least four adults are deep in conversation by the snack table. By two-forty-five, the presents are clustered under a card table in the living room, completely unguarded, because the birthday boy is cutting the cake or opening a piñata." "What if they open the presents during the party?" "They open the presents during the party. That's perfect. The gift bags and wrapping paper get torn apart and shoved aside. The actual gifts get scattered across the floor like a toy store exploded. We don't even have to unwrap anything. We just collect what's already exposed." "And nobody notices two adults stealing from a living room floor?" "That's why we dress as clowns." Bill stared at her. "Come again?" "Children's party. Clown enters. Clown leaves. Nobody questions a clown. It's camouflage." "I don't do clowns." "You don't do clowns, or you don't do the costume?" "The costume itches." "You're robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party and your concern is wardrobe comfort?" "It's a legitimate concern." "Fine. You dress as the dinosaur entertainer. There's no dinosaur entertainer scheduled, which is exactly why no one will question it. A man in a T-Rex suit wanders in, scoops up whatever's nearest the door, and waddles back to the van." "The van." "The van with the window that says 'Candy Makes You Taller!' on the side." "Molly, that van does not say that." "It does now. I made the sticker yesterday." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's my cut?" "Thirty-five percent." "I'm wearing a dinosaur suit." "Forty." "Split it evenly." "You want fifty percent to waddle around a living room?" "I want fifty percent to waddle around a living room in a heatstroke costume in the middle of the afternoon." Molly studied the napkin drawing. The mustard potato was beginning to dissolve into the paper. "Fine. Fifty-fifty. But if there's anything educational in there, I get first pick." "What's wrong with educational?" "Bill, we are not stealing and then reading. We are stealing and then selling." "Sold. Literally." "Shut up and start stretching. T-Rexes have very limited range of motion and I need you limber."