Run: 2026-09-23-01M37P0DXXWZ5XZ0K42D459JFV

Molly had been staring through the binoculars for twenty minutes, and Bill was starting to worry about her eyes. "Well?" he whispered, hunched beside her behind the wheel of their rented van. The van said FLAVIO'S BALLOON SERVICES on the side, which was technically true, since Bill had once stolen a bag of balloons. "It's worse than we thought," Molly said, passing him the binoculars. "They've got a bouncy castle." Bill looked. The castle loomed over the backyard like an inflatable fortress, its plastic turrets swaying in the wind. Children screamed inside it with what sounded like either joy or mortal terror. Beyond it, a folding table groaned under a mountain of wrapped presents, guarded by a golden retriever wearing a party hat. "The dog's a problem," Bill said. "His name is Cupcake. I read his tag with the zoom lens. He's seven and he's got a bad hip." "Everybody's got a weakness." Bill uncapped a marker and drew a stick figure dog on his clipboard, then crossed it out. "What about the parents?" "Mom's doing face painting. Dad's grilling. And there's a clown." Bill froze. "A clown?" "A real one. Professional. He's making balloon animals by the shed." "Then we go in as caterers." Bill flipped to a fresh page on his clipboard, where he'd drawn the backyard as a series of arrows and X's that Molly had long ago labeled "the madman's map." "I enter through the side gate at fourteen hundred hours, posing as the assistant cake deliverer. You cause a diversion near the bouncy castle. While every eye is on you, I approach the present table, bag the loot, and we're gone before anyone notices the good gifts are missing." Molly lowered the binoculars and looked at him the way she always looked at his plans, which was like she was pricing a coffin. "You want to steal presents from six-year-olds." "We're not stealing from children. We're stealing from their parents, who are wealthy. Look at that house, Bill said, gesturing at the three-car garage. "That's a boat-owning family. Those presents include at least two iPads and a PlayStation. That's four grand of easily fenced electronics sitting on a card table next to a drooling dog." "The dog is sweet." "The dog is an alarm system with a tail." Bill tapped the clipboard. "Diversion. What's your diversion?" Molly smiled, and Bill's stomach dropped, because Molly's smiles had cost them a getaway car in Reno and most of his eyebrows in Tampa. "I release the piñata early." "You can't release a piñata. It's not a wild animal." "Bill. Every child at that party has been staring at that piñata for an hour. It's a unicorn, and it's stuffed, and when I cut the string and it drops, there will be a stampede. Parents will dive. The clown will panic. Cupcake will lose his mind. And you, my friend, will be a shadow by the present table." Bill considered it. It was, he hated to admit, elegant. Chaos as camouflage. "What if the presents are all socks?" "Then we've suffered for nothing, like always." He checked his watch. "Fourteen hundred hours. You ready?" Molly pulled a pair of scissors from her jacket and kissed them. "Born ready." Bill slid open the van door, stepped out, and immediately twisted his ankle on the curb, going down hard in front of the entire party. Every parent turned. Cupcake barked. The clown honked his horn. Molly sighed and picked up the binoculars. "Well," she said to no one. "New plan."