Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PM9Z5R3GAPTTBC21W8Q6G

Molly spread the floor plan across the hood of the van and weighed the corners down with four juice boxes. "Right," she said. "The Pemberton residence. Tomorrow, two o'clock. Little Timmy turns seven." Bill leaned over the map, squinting. "Why is there a drawing of a dinosaur on the kitchen?" "That's the invitation, Bill. I didn't have time to get blueprints. I copied the address off the back." "So we don't actually know where anything is." "We know the presents will be on the gift table. There is always a gift table. It's the one law of the universe." Bill nodded slowly, as if this were deep wisdom. "And how do we get in?" Molly reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a purple costume with an enormous foam head. The eyes were slightly crossed. One ear drooped. "No," said Bill. "Yes." "Molly, I have a criminal record. I have dignity." "You have a criminal record because you fell asleep in a getaway car. You're wearing the hippo." Bill held the foam head at arm's length. It stared back at him, cheerful and cross-eyed. "What's the hippo's name?" "Mister Wobbles." "Mister Wobbles," he repeated, in the voice of a man reading his own death certificate. "Here's the plan," Molly said, tapping the dinosaur. "You go in the front door as the entertainment. The kids swarm you. Every adult in the house watches you, because nobody can look away from a man in a hippo suit. Meanwhile, I slip round the back dressed as a caterer and load the presents into the van." "What do I do while they're swarming me?" "Entertain." "How?" "I don't know, Bill. Juggle. Make balloon animals." "I can only make one balloon animal." "Which one?" He thought hard about it. "Snake." Molly closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. "Then make a lot of snakes. Tell them it's a family of snakes. Give them names." A seagull landed on the van, inspected a juice box, and flew off, unimpressed. "What if the real entertainer shows up?" Bill asked. "Already handled. I rang Chuckles the Clown this morning and told him the party was cancelled because of lice." "That's cold." "That's professional." She rolled up the invitation with a snap. "One more thing. Seven-year-olds are ruthless. If they smell weakness, they'll tear you apart. Do not let them take the head off." Bill clutched Mister Wobbles to his chest. "Why would they take the head off?" "Because they're seven. They want to see if you're real." "I'm not real!" "Exactly, Bill. That's the problem." He looked down at the costume, then up at her, a new worry dawning across his face. "Molly, what's actually in the presents? Like, what are we stealing?" She hesitated for the first time all afternoon. "Mostly Lego," she admitted. "Possibly a scooter." "We're risking prison for a scooter?" "A nice scooter, Bill." She slammed the van door. "With lights in the wheels."