Run: 2026-09-23-01M36VRRREKC2V1VVY7Z4BR1RG

Molly spread the paper napkins across the picnic table like they were blueprints, which, unfortunately, they were. Bill leaned in, squinting at a crayon map of a backyard, a bounce house, and a stick-figure pony that might have been a dog. "We go in after the cake," Molly said. "Everyone looks at the cake. Nobody looks at the table." "The present table," Bill said. "Under the oak. I saw it from the sidewalk. Wrapped like a parade." "Do not say parade. Parades have police." "Birthday police?" "Parents," Molly said. "Parents are worse. They have phones and opinions." A bee investigated Bill's sleeve. He held still, as if stillness were a skill he had practiced. The park was loud with ordinary Saturday noise, and their plan sounded smaller every time a child laughed somewhere past the trees. "So I carry the bag," Bill said. "The big one. The one that says Recycling so people feel virtuous and do not ask questions." "You carry the bag. I do the talking if anyone talks. We are relatives. Distant. From the side with the weak chins." "I have a strong chin." "Then look at your shoes. Strong chins get remembered." Bill nodded, wounded and cooperative. Molly tapped the napkin where she had drawn a star. "Presents only. No cake. No goodie bags. No emotional speeches. We are professionals." "We stole a garden gnome last spring." "And we returned it. Growth." Wind lifted one napkin. Bill slapped it down with the tenderness of a man protecting evidence and also his lunch. Molly watched a cluster of balloons nod over a fence two streets away, red and gold, innocent as a confession. "What if a kid sees us?" Bill asked. "You freeze. You say you are looking for the bathroom. You do not improvise a backstory about being a wizard." "That was one time." "It was at a bank." "A small bank." Molly closed her eyes, then opened them, because closing them did not improve Bill. "In, grab, out. If the clown looks at you, you look at the clown like you hired him. Confidence is a costume." "I don't have a costume." "You have a smile. Use less of it." They sat with that. A sprinkler ticked on somewhere. Bill folded the napkin map into his pocket, crooked, already doomed. "Afterward we split it even," he said. "Except if there is a train set. I call the train set." "You may have the train set if you do not name it in front of witnesses." "I already named it." "Then it is evidence, and evidence stays in the bag." Bill considered the ethics of this and lost. Molly stood, brushed grass from her knees, and faced the bright, ridiculous afternoon as if it might negotiate. "Ready?" she asked. "Ready," Bill said, and did not sound it, which was, in its way, the most honest part of the plan.