Run: 2026-09-23-01M36W800VPJBMTE5MS51DQT11

Molly spread a colorful napkin across the café table and drew on it with a red crayon she'd swiped from the booth beside her. "Okay, here's the layout of the venue. Balloon arch at the entrance, which we use for cover. Cake table here. Presents here." She stabbed the napkin aggressively. Bill squinted at the drawing. "What's that blob?" "The climbing wall." "There's a climbing wall at a seven-year-old's birthday?" "It's elite, Bill. Very exclusive. Not our problem though. Our problem is the presents." "How much loot are we talking?" "Twelve kids, each bringing a gift. Minimum forty bucks a pop. That's what? Six hundred? Seven?" "Less your discount on the math, so around two hundred." "The math is fine. Focus. Here's the plan. I go in disguised as a clown." "You're kidding me." "I am not kidding you. I rented the costume last week. Big red shoes, rainbow wig, the works. Nobody questions a clown at a children's party. They just assume he's paid to be there." "And what if they didn't hire a clown?" "Then I'm an enthusiastic guest. A really committed uncle. Either way, I blend in." Bill pinched the bridge of your nose. "Okay, and what am I doing while you're making balloon animals and stealing gift bags?" "You're the delivery driver. Wait outside in the van." "We don't have a van." "We have your Honda Civic with the broken window and the bumper sticker that says 'My Other Car Is Also a Disaster.'" "That was a gift from my mother." "Your mother has taste problems. Listen. I go in, do twenty minutes of crowd work, warm up the room. Then I move to the present pile. I take the bags in waves, three or four at a time, hand them off to you at the side entrance." "In full clown face?" "I'll have the makeup on. It's good for anonymity. Once they find the gifts missing, their description of the suspect will be 'the terrifying clown with the enormous red shoes.' The police will never identify me as an actual criminal. They'll think it was the hired entertainment." "What if they catch you mid-grift?" "I cry. Clowns crying is the saddest thing in the world. Even hardened parents will look away. It's built-in emotional camouflage." Bill leaned back. "This is the dumbest plan you've ever had, and you once tried to rob a laundromat with a squirt gun." "The squirt gun worked! We got forty-three dollars in quarters!" "You got chased by a washing machine." "That was a false memory." "It was a treadmill at the gym next door, and a woman named Gladys sat on you until police arrived." Molly waved him off. "Ancient history. We're professionals now. This is a clean job. Three hundred bucks a piece, easy. And think of it, Bill. It's our first job on the party circuit. Weddings, bar mitzvahs, quinceañeras. The gift-heisting market is completely untapped." Bill stared at the napkin map, then at Molly's manic grin. "We're going to prison." "We're going to the Bahamas. With seven-year-olds' presents. Now put on the spare clown nose. I need to test your balloon animal skills."