Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PPVEQT13C8FFYKQC559VH

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the hood of the getaway van, which was really her mother's minivan with a sticker reading "Proud Grandma of an Honor Student." A juice box rolled off the dashboard in solidarity. "Timmy Pembrook turns seven at two o'clock," she said. "Fourteen presents, minimum. Sixteen if Aunt Carol feels guilty again." Bill squinted at the drawing. "Is this the house or a giraffe?" "It's the house. The neck is the driveway." He nodded, as though that settled it. Bill had once robbed a bank and left with only the complimentary pens, so Molly did not expect much. "So what's my job this time?" he asked. "You're the clown." "I hate clowns. They have too many pockets." "Children hate clowns too. That's why nobody will look at you directly. While they're screaming, I slip out the back with the gift table." "The whole table?" "It has wheels, Bill. I checked." Bill adjusted the rubber nose she'd handed him. It honked every time he breathed, which seemed like a design flaw for a stealth operation. "And if the birthday boy catches us?" Molly smiled and patted her bag. "Then we use the emergency bribe." "Cake?" "Better. His mother's iPad password."