Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2HFY1DKE7WZWNWB9HFSDG

Molly crouched behind a hydrangea bush and adjusted her binoculars. Across the lawn, a bouncy castle shaped like a unicorn wobbled in the afternoon breeze. Bill crouched beside her, wearing a balaclava that said "World's Okayest Uncle" across the forehead. "Bill, why does your mask have writing on it?" "It was on sale. Also, it was the only one that fit over my ears." "We're supposed to be anonymous." "Nobody's going to read my forehead, Molly. It's a children's party." Molly sighed and passed him the binoculars. "Present table, by the patio. Forty-two gifts, conservatively. Six of them are bigger than a toddler." "Forty-two," Bill whispered, reverently. "That's a lot of Lego." "That's a lot of retirement, Bill. Somebody will pay good money for a limited-edition Glitter Pony Dreamhouse." "That's a real thing?" "Three hundred dollars on the resale market. The parents are animals." Bill lowered the binoculars. "What about the clown?" "What clown?" "By the punch bowl. Big shoes. Red nose. Looks like he's judging us." "He's a hired entertainer. He's twenty-two and makes balloon poodles for forty dollars an hour. He doesn't care." "Clowns always care, Molly. Nobody paints on a smile without trauma." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Here's the plan. At two-fifteen, the piñata comes out. Every kid in the yard will be blindfolded and swinging a stick. That's our window." "Blindfolded kids with sticks. Sounds like a hazard for us." "Which is why you'll wear the cardboard crown." "Why do I get the crown?" "Because you're going in as the birthday boy's long-lost uncle." "I am an uncle." "Then it's method acting. Easy." Bill considered this, nodding slowly. "And what do you do?" "I'm the caterer. I roll the cart to the present table, load the gifts under a tablecloth, and roll out with them and a tray of cocktail wieners." "Why the wieners?" "Camouflage. Nobody questions a woman with wieners." "That's the truest thing you've ever said." A shriek erupted from the yard. A small girl in a tutu had tackled the unicorn castle, and a dozen children followed like lemmings. "Two-fifteen," Molly whispered, checking her watch. "Showtime. Is the getaway van ready?" Bill hesitated. "Define van." "Bill." "It's the ice cream truck. It was available. And honestly, it's perfect cover, because kids will run toward us instead of away." "That's not cover, that's a stampede." "Ah, but they'll be distracted by Mister Twinkles." "Who is Mister Twinkles?" Bill shrugged and straightened his crown. "Me. I've been practicing the jingle." Molly stared at him for a long moment, then pulled her own mask down. "If we get arrested by a seven-year-old, I'm telling everyone it was your idea." "It was my idea." "I know. That's what makes it so sad."