Run: 2026-09-24-01M39WZWYF4NNWFV9SSSVKZ4ZW

The blueprint spread across the diner table was, technically, a crayon drawing Bill had lifted from a kindergartner's backpack three days earlier. "Okay," Molly said, tapping the paper with a plastic fork. "Party starts at two. Pony rides at two-thirty. Cake at three. That's our window." "Window for what?" "For the heist, Bill. Keep up." Bill squinted at the drawing. "This map has a sun wearing sunglasses on it." "That's the bounce house. It casts a shadow over the gift table between activities, when all the little monsters migrate toward the ponies. Ninety seconds of cover, maybe two minutes if the pony is difficult." "You want to steal from children." "I want to steal from parents who spent four hundred dollars on a dinosaur cake. The kids won't even notice. They'll be sugar-shocked and crying about the pony anyway. It's a wash." Bill stirred his coffee slowly, the way he did when a plan was either brilliant or a felony. Usually both. "What's the security situation?" "One grandma. Armed with knitting needles. She parks herself next to the gift table like it's Fort Knox." "Grandmas are no joke, Mol. My aunt Vera once took down a door-to-door salesman with a crocheted doily and pure spite. He still can't hear out of his left ear." "Which is why we go in disguise." Molly reached into her bag and produced two clown wigs and a balloon animal kit. "Nobody questions a clown. Clowns are furniture at these things." "Absolutely not. I have a documented fear of my own face in a wig." "You'll be Bill the Balloon Guy. You make animals, you keep the kids distracted, I bag the presents. In and out in six minutes." "Bag the—Molly, we can't just walk out of a birthday party holding garbage bags full of toys." "That's why you make me a balloon horse first. Visible alibi. I'm not a thief, Bill. I'm a guest carrying a bag of prizes for the party games. Nobody interrogates the prize lady." Bill stared at her for a long moment. "That's insane." "Thank you." "It's insane, and I'm in. What's the split?" "Sixty-forty. My plan." "Sixty percent of stolen birthday presents. We're going to hell." "We're going to a flea market, and then hell. One thing at a time." She folded the crayon map into her jacket. "The pony ride is our cover. One of us has to feed the pony while I work." "Why do I have to feed the pony?" "Because you have kind hands. The pony will sense it." "The pony will sense it," Bill repeated flatly. "And what's the getaway?" "My hatchback. There's a car seat in the back. Instant camouflage. Nobody pulls over a car with a car seat." Bill sighed, picked up a wig, and held it at arm's length like it might bite. "If a grandma knits me to death, I'm haunting you specifically. Daily. At breakfast." "Noted. Now practice your balloon animals. If you hand a child a snake and call it a dog, the whole operation collapses."