Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2KHJ51GNWM9SZJKSMFYK9

The bouncy castle in the Hendersons' backyard was shaped like a purple dragon, and Molly Pruitt hated it on principle. She lay flat on the roof of the neighboring garden shed, binoculars pressed to her eyes, while Bill Tanner wheezed beside her, wedged between a rake and a dead geranium. "Seven-year-old birthday party," Molly whispered. "Forty-two children, eleven adults, one clown." "I don't like the clown," said Bill. "Nobody likes the clown, Bill. That's why he's useful. Everyone's watching him with dread instead of us." Below, a mountain of presents sat on a folding table beneath a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY DESMOND. The boxes glittered in foil and ribbon like a dragon's hoard, which Molly felt was thematically appropriate. Bill lowered his own binoculars, which he had been holding upside down for twenty minutes. "Why are we doing this? We cracked the Delmont Museum vault last spring." "And after the fence's cut and your therapy, we cleared eleven dollars." Molly adjusted her focus. "Desmond's father manages hedge funds. Those boxes contain drones, tablets, and a tiny helicopter that actually flies." "It's kids' stuff, though. It feels wrong." "It feels expensive. At two-thirty they bring out the cake, every eye turns to the candles, and we walk in as caterers." Bill glanced down at his outfit: a white apron and a paper hat shaped like a cupcake. "I look ridiculous." "You look like a man carrying a cheese platter. Nobody questions a cheese platter." At two-thirty exactly, the gazebo lights dimmed and the crowd launched into an off-key chorus of "Happy Birthday." Molly slid down the drainpipe with the ease of thirty years of practice. Bill followed with considerably less grace and landed in a hydrangea. They crossed the lawn carrying empty trays, chins high, radiating the calm of professionals. A small girl in a tiara planted herself directly in Bill's path and studied his hat. "Are you a real cupcake?" she asked. "Yes," Bill said, with the dignity of a man out of alternatives. "Move along, Your Majesty." She narrowed her eyes but moved along. At the table, Molly swept presents into a wheeled cooler with hands that barely seemed to move. Drone, tablet, LEGO castle, something enormous wrapped in dinosaur paper. Bill hovered nearby, nodding gravely at passing parents and offering imaginary cheese. Then a large gloved hand landed on Molly's shoulder. She froze. Bill dropped his tray. Behind them, the clown loomed in his rainbow wig, his painted smile fixed and terrible. "Nice technique," he murmured. "Very smooth. Now, what's the split? I've had my eye on that helicopter all morning." Molly and Bill exchanged a long look. "Sixty-forty," Molly said. "We take sixty." "Fifty-fifty, and I'll create a diversion." Across the lawn, the clown lifted a fistful of balloons and shouted, "Free ice cream at the front gate!" Forty-two children stampeded away in a single roaring wave. Molly sighed and tipped her head toward the fence. "Bill, grab the other handle."