Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATFK9P7H6ZK4D1ZWKG0R12

Molly spread the glitter-covered invitation across the Formica table. "Timmy Henderson's eighth birthday. Saturday. Three PM. Backyard on Maple Street." Bill leaned back in his chair, swirling the cold coffee in his chipped mug. "You want us to rob a child's birthday party." "It's not robbery if we blend in," Molly said, adjusting her purple cardigan. "It's acquisition. Professional acquisition." "Last I checked," Bill said with a heavy clink, "'acquisition' doesn't involve hiding behind the bounce house with a juice box pretending to be eight." "We'll be nine," Molly corrected, tapping the paper. "Eight-year-olds ask too many questions. Nine-year-olds are too busy playing tag." Bill paced to the window. "Mrs. Henderson is a retired drill sergeant. She has motion-sensor sprinklers. A gift table like Fort Knox." "We circumvent the sprinklers by staying dry," Molly said, pulling a grappling hook from her purse. "The gift table's our objective. We go in through the doggy door, crawl under the furniture—" "Under the furniture?" Bill interrupted, clutching his lower back. "I'm forty-three. My knees haven't bent since Carter." "We take the alley entrance," Molly said, consulting her notebook. "The fence has a gap behind the azaleas. I checked." "And what about the goodie bags?" Bill asked, easing back into his chair. "Molly, are we taking those too, or are we monsters?" "We take the goodie bags, Bill, but only the ones with the decent stickers," Molly explained, crossing her legs. "The temporary tattoos are currency in the criminal underworld." Bill sat down heavily, the chair creaking. "What if little Timmy spots us? I can't outrun a sugar-rush eight-year-old with a Nerf gun." "We don't run," Molly said, producing a clown nose. "We deflect. I honk. You throw confetti. Chaos is our ally." "Chaos is a seven-year-old screaming 'Stranger danger' while pointing at a grown man in clown makeup." "Then we offer him a Capri Sun," Molly said. "It works on hostage negotiators. It'll work on Timmy." Bill rubbed his temples. "What if it's all socks and educational software?" "Then we pivot," Molly said firmly, removing the nose. "We take the cake. The whole cake. We are not above dessert felonies." "Brilliant," Bill admitted. "The parents will be singing while the cake vanishes." Molly checked her vintage watch. "Forty-eight hours. We suit up at noon. I have face paint. You bring balloon animals." "I don't know how to make balloon animals," Bill said, standing up and stretching. "Learn," Molly commanded. "Or we look suspicious without favors." Bill sighed, picking up the glittery invitation. "I still think this is a terrible idea." "Bill," Molly said, grinning wickedly, "when has a bad idea stopped us?" "Last Tuesday," Bill said quietly. "The zoo incident." "That was different," Molly insisted. "It involved a penguin." "There was a penguin!" "We're doing this," Molly declared, striking a pose. "For the presents. For the cake." "Fine," Bill muttered, backing toward the door. "But if I sing off-key, I'm billing you." "Deal," Molly called after him. "Help me practice my clown laugh."