Run: 2026-09-23-01M37NV6MA6PB498YTBGKXPVRD

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the dashboard of the van. It was drawn in purple crayon, and the kitchen had a smiling sun in it. "Where did you get this?" Bill asked. "The birthday girl drew it for school. It was on the fridge. I photographed it through the window." "Is that a dragon in the garage?" "I'm choosing to believe that's artistic license." Across the street, balloons bobbed from the mailbox beneath a glittering banner: HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY, TIFFANY. "Walk me through it one more time," Bill said. "Right. Party starts at two. Presents go on the table by the patio door. At two-thirty, the clown arrives. Every eye in that yard will be on him. That's when we move." "And the clown is?" "You." "Me?" Bill clutched his chest. "Molly, I have a face for radio. Sad radio." "That's why I bought the extra-large red nose. Nobody will look past it." "What do clowns even do?" "Balloon animals. Juggling. Falling over. Just keep them laughing for six minutes while I load the gifts into the bouncy castle." "Why the bouncy castle?" "Because I rented it. The company picks it up at five, deflates it, and drives it straight to our garage. Presents inside. Nobody searches a bouncy castle." Bill stared at her in awe. "That's genius." "I know." "Terrible, but genius." "I know that too." He grabbed a pink balloon, blew until his cheeks turned purple, and twisted. It squeaked and burst. "What was that supposed to be?" Molly asked. "A giraffe." "It looked like a sausage having a crisis." "Kids like sausages." "Kids like giraffes, Bill. Practice." She tapped the map. "Now, threats. There's a dad who takes his grill very seriously, a grandmother who knits, and a boy named Kevin." "What's wrong with Kevin?" "Kevin is eight. Kevin has a walkie-talkie. Kevin once reported his own uncle for jaywalking." Bill went pale. "I don't like Kevin." "Nobody likes Kevin. That's why you'll give him the first balloon animal." "The sausage?" "The giraffe." A minivan pulled up, and children spilled out clutching gift bags and one suspiciously large package shaped like a pony. "Look at that haul," Molly whispered. "Do you think that one's a real pony?" "If it is, you're carrying it." "Why do I always carry the livestock?" "Because you have a strong back and a weak argument." Bill pulled on the rainbow wig and checked the mirror. A deeply sad clown stared back. "Molly, can I ask you something?" "Quickly." "Are we bad people?" She considered it. "We're stealing birthday presents from a seven-year-old using a bouncy castle and a man who can't make a giraffe." "So yes." "We're ambitious people, Bill. Now honk your nose. It's showtime."