Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PK195YB0Y3WY5VZJ6PB50

Molly crouched behind the hedge, binoculars pressed to her face, while Bill shuffled up beside her holding a clipboard. "Okay, tell me what you see," Bill whispered. "Balloon arch. Bouncy castle. A clown making balloon animals. And a piñata shaped like a unicorn." "Which one's the piñata?" "The unicorn, Bill. I just said that." "Right, right. And where are they keeping the presents?" "Presents table. Northwest corner of the yard. I count eleven gift bags and four boxes with bows." Bill scribbled on his clipboard. "Eleven bags, four boxes. What's our entry point?" "The gate. It's a birthday party, not Fort Knox. There's a sign that says 'Welcome, Party Guests.'" "That's exactly what they want you to think," Bill said, narrowing his eyes. "It's a trap." "How is a welcome sign a trap?" "It's psychological warfare, Molly. They're lulling us into a false sense of security. We go over the fence instead." "You can't climb a fence. You got stuck in a window at the Henderson job and the fire department had to use butter." "That was one time, and it was margarine, and I don't want to talk about it. What's our cover?" Molly reached into her bag and pulled out two pointed hats covered in glitter. "Party hats." "We're just going to walk in wearing party hats?" "That's the beauty of it. Nobody questions a person in a party hat at a party. It's the perfect crime." Bill tapped his chin. "I hate it. Let's do it. What about the clown? Clowns see everything." "Bill, that clown just made a balloon dog with four legs and called it a giraffe. He's not a threat." "Every clown is a threat. I'll handle the clown. You grab the presents." "How exactly are you going to handle the clown?" Bill reached into his jacket and produced a whoopee cushion. "Professional courtesy. He'll respect this. It's like a badge among our people." "You're not a clown, Bill." "I did two summers at Camp Wannawanka. I have range." Molly lowered her binoculars and stared at him. "What's your clown name?" "Sprinkles." "Of course it is. Okay, new plan. You distract the kids with your Sprinkles routine, I'll load the presents into the wheelbarrow, and we meet back here in twenty minutes." "Wheelbarrow? We didn't bring a wheelbarrow." Molly pointed to the wheelbarrow sitting next to the hedge. "When did you get a wheelbarrow?" "While you were inside making flashcards. By the way, why do you have flashcards?" Bill flipped through them proudly. "Icebreakers for interacting with children. Number one: 'What grade are you in?' Number two: 'Do you like dinosaurs?' Number three—" "Bill, we're not there to make friends with the children." "We're not there to make enemies either, Molly. These are future witnesses. You want them describing us as cold and standoffish?" Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. You befriend the children, I'll steal their presents, and we never speak of this again." "That's the spirit. Wait, one more thing." Bill held up a finger. "What if there's cake?" "What about it?" "What if there's cake, Molly? Are we just going to steal presents at a birthday party and not have cake? That's just rude." "We're not having cake." Bill put on his party hat and sighed. "Fine. But if there's ice cream cake, I'm making a judgment call."