Run: 2026-09-23-01M36TM4DG3ZCWCF8VT8TSKJS2

Bill pressed his ear against the doorframe. "You hear that?" Molly checked her watch. "Cake smashing. It's almost time for presents." She looked back at Bill. "What's the plan?" "Standard operation. Distract, enter, bag the loot, exit." "And the distraction?" Bill grinned. "Clown costume." Molly stared at him. "You own a clown costume?" "I own seven clown costumes." "Seven?" "I went through a phase." Bill rummaged through his duffel bag. "Here. You wear this one." Molly held up a ruffled collar and red nose. "I'm not wearing that." "You're wearing it. The birthday girl won't hesitate. She's two. She'll open her arms for anything." "So we're relying on a toddler's natural affection?" "The toddler is the key, Molly. Everyone knows you never turn away a toddler's hug." Molly examined the costume. "And what exactly do you do while I'm being embraced by a two-year-old?" "I slip in through the side door. The mother left it unlocked. I checked three times." "You checked three times." "Twice for the door. Once for the locks. It's all clear." Molly tucked the clown nose into her pocket. "And how many presents are we talking?" "I counted nineteen wrapped boxes. Heavy ones near the bookshelf. That's where the good stuff is." "How do you know it's the good stuff?" "The father is a lawyer. Lawyers buy expensive toys." "Lawyers' kids break expensive toys." "That's the beauty of it. The breakage justifies our theft. We're essentially recycling." Molly snorted. "Recycling. That's what you're calling this." "Look, do you want to stand here arguing with me or do you want presents?" "How many are for us?" "All nineteen." "Bill, we're not children." "Technically, every gift is technically for someone. We're just changing who." Molly paused. "The clown costume only buys you two minutes." "Three minutes. I'm good." "You timed yourself climbing through a side door?" "I timed myself climbing through a side door in the third clown costume. This one fits better." Molly shook her head and slipped the collar around her neck. "If this goes wrong, I'm blaming you." "You're already blaming me. You blame me before things go wrong. That way the blame is timely." "That's not how blame works." "It's how my blame works." Bill adjusted his duffel bag. "One more thing." "What?" "Sing happy birthday." "I'm not singing." "The parents expect it. If the clown doesn't sing, they'll get suspicious." "They'll get suspicious about everything else too." "Only the singing, Molly. Only the singing." Molly pulled the red nose over her face and inhaled through her nostrils. "Fine. But I'm choosing the song." "No requests. You'll sing it wrong and blow the whole operation." "Since when are you a birthday song purist?" "Since we're stealing birthday presents, Molly. Some things are sacred." Bill checked his watch. "Forty-five seconds." Molly grabbed the gift bags. "You're the worst co-conspirator I've ever had." "I'm the only co-conspirator you've ever had." "Still the worst." She shoved open the door. "Okay, Mr. Wonderful. Go steal from children." Bill slipped through the side door like smoke. Molly marched into the living room and heard the clown suit rustle as the toddler turned to see her. She knelt down, smiled beneath the red nose, and opened her arms. Behind the couch, she heard the rustling of paper and the soft zip of a duffel bag.