Run: 2026-09-23-01M36VTBBBKS7671SP0Y2ZQQD4

Molly spread the floor plan across the kitchen table, weighing down the corners with salt shakers and a half-eaten croissant. The house at 14 Sycamore Lane was perfect: single-story, French doors in the back, and a six-year-old's birthday party in full swing tomorrow at two o'clock. She circled the living room in red marker. Bill leaned over her shoulder and squinted at the map like it was written in ancient Aramaic. "That's just a napkin from Bistro Michel. You drew this on a napkin." "It's a floor plan, Bill. I have perfect spatial awareness. Ask anyone." "Nobody has ever asked anyone that." "The presents will be in the living room, stacked next to a television that's playing Bluey on a loop for eight hours. The parents will be in the kitchen drinking something with mint in it. The children will be feral." Bill sat down and cracked his knuckles. "How many presents are we talking?" "Invitation list says thirty kids. Conservative estimate? Each one brings a gift bag or wrapped box. We're looking at thirty presents minimum, some of those Lego sets retail for over a hundred dollars." "Have we considered ethics?" "Bill." "I'm just saying." "We steal for a living. You once stole a traffic cone from a construction site and sold it back to the city." "It was a very nice cone." Bill traced the red circle on the napkin. "So we go in through the French doors, grab the presents, load them into the van." "Not the van. Too conspicuous in a residential neighborhood with bouncy castles everywhere." "Right. What then?" "Margarita stand. I'm borrowing the catering truck from my cousin Pilar." "Your cousin Pilar who works at that taco place?" "She's a caterer now, Bill. She does quinceañeras and children's parties. She has the perfect cover story: we're just two catering assistants loading out leftover churros." Bill chewed his lip. "And if someone asks where the churros are?" "There will be no churros left. Children destroy churros, Bill. They're savages. We exploit that." "This feels wrong. Stealing from kids." "Then don't think of it as stealing from kids. Think of it as redistributing joy from people who don't even remember what they unwrapped to a man who needs a new radiator." "The car radiator? I thought we fixed that." "The car's fine. I need one for the apartment. Mine exploded." Bill stared at her. "Your apartment radiator exploded." "It was old. It was its time." He sighed and pulled the napkin closer. "Fine. But I want it on record that I raised moral objections." "Recorded." Molly uncapped her marker and drew a stick figure near the French doors. "That's you. You'll be wearing a chef's coat. I got one from Pilar." "Is it stained?" "Professionally. You'll blend right in." "And what are you wearing?" Molly grinned and tapped the stick figure. "Minnie Mouse costume. The birthday girl is obsessed. I'll walk right through the front door and nobody will ask a single question." Bill put his face in his hands. "We are the worst criminals alive." "Agreed. That's what makes us great."