Run: 2026-09-23-01M36X0MDGXYHXCA3HEXFW6SR4

Molly tapped the steering wheel with a plastic spoon she had stolen from a yogurt shop, which felt, in her professional opinion, like adequate preparation. Bill sat beside her with a clipboard and the solemn expression of a man who had once been trusted with scissors. "All right," Molly said. "Kid's turning seven. Theme is dinosaurs. Presents are stacked by the sliding door. We go in, we smile, we leave richer and slightly sticky." "We are not going in smiling," Bill said. "Smiling is how people remember faces. We go in as the balloon people. I already rented the tank." "You rented a helium tank for a robbery." "For a redistribution of wrapped joy. And yes. Nobody questions balloon people. They assume you are sad enough already." Molly peered through the windshield at the bounce house sagging in the yard like a tired lung. A clown was arguing with a father about mileage. Somewhere a child screamed in what might have been delight. "Fifty presents, easy," she said. "Remote-control car, art set, that weird robot that cries. We take the pile, we leave the cake, we are heroes in a very narrow sense." "We leave the cake because you will eat the cake," Bill said. "I will evaluate the cake." Bill flipped a page. "Entry is the side gate. It has a latch a motivated toddler could defeat, which is convenient, because we are motivated toddlers with a van. You carry the sack. I provide conversational cover. If anyone asks, we are from the entertainment company and the dinosaur is running late due to traffic and emotional issues." "What if the real dinosaur shows up?" "Then we have a problem, Molly, because I did not budget for a second dinosaur." She grinned. "Backup plan. We hide in the bounce house until the sugar crash. Presents come to us. Physics." "That is not physics. That is loitering in vinyl." "Loitering with intent to unwrap." A woman crossed the lawn carrying a tray of juice boxes like sacred relics. Bill watched her with the focus he usually reserved for locks and bad decisions. "We wait until the piñata," he said. "Everyone looks up. Blindfolds. Sticks. Chaos is our friend. Chaos has always been our friend, even when it keyed my car." "Your car deserved it." "Focus. You grab anything with a bow. I grab anything that rattes. If a child offers us a juice box, we accept it. Refusing hospitality is how amateurs get caught." Molly nodded, suddenly grave. "And if someone asks whose parents we are?" "We say we are Uncle Dave." "Both of us?" "Uncle Dave had a complicated year." She started the engine. The spoon clicked against the dash like a tiny, useless gavel. Across the street, the clown honked a horn that sounded personally offended. "Fifty-fifty split," Molly said. "I call the robot that cries." "You can have the robot," Bill said. "I want the art set. I have been meaning to express myself." "Through theft?" "Through watercolors. The theft is just how we get there." They watched the gate. It did not look locked so much as suggested. Molly killed the engine again, because commitment, like helium, was better released at the right moment. "On my count," she said. "You never count right." "Then on your count, balloon man." Bill lifted the clipboard like a shield. "Three. And if anyone offers us cake, we take two slices. Professional courtesy."