Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PJBD45Z9VTS0NGWCGC2H5

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the getaway van, which was actually a borrowed ice cream truck that still played "Greensleeves" whenever someone touched the brakes. The blueprint was, technically, a birthday invitation. Seven-year-old Tyler Pemberton requested the pleasure of their company, or at least the company of anyone with a gift. Bill studied the crayon map on the back, tracing the route from the bouncy castle to the gift table with a trembling finger. He had cased the backyard twice that morning, disguised first as a gardener and then, after a small misunderstanding with a sprinkler, as a very wet gardener. "Clown costumes are in the back," Molly said. Bill paled. He had feared many things in his long criminal career: alarms, dogs, and the police. None compared to twenty sugar-fueled children and a piñata. "What if they want balloon animals?" "Make snakes," Molly said. "Everything's a snake if you commit." She checked her watch. Cake would be served at three, and history proved that no parent watches the presents during cake. They would slip in, fill the laundry sacks, and vanish before the candles were blown out. Bill, meanwhile, practiced honking his red nose quietly, with grim determination.