Run: 2026-10-07-01M4AVJDMQDSMRCNRZ4ER6K2GJ

Molly spread the birthday invitations across the rusted picnic table, her finger tracing the glitter-encrusted card with a steady hand that belied her racing heart. "Seven-year-olds, Bill. Seven-year-olds with a piñata and a bounce house." Bill squinted at the invitation, adjusting his reading glasses. "The Henderson boy's eighth birthday. Saturday, 2 PM. Mrs. Henderson specifically requested 'no gifts wrapped in newspaper' on the RSVP." "She's onto us," Molly said, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. "She knows." Bill leaned back in his lawn chair, which immediately collapsed, sending him sprawling into a kiddie pool filled with stagnant water. He emerged dripping, furious. "That chair was vintage." "It was from the curb," Molly said. "Now, the plan. We go in as magicians." "Magicians?" "Entertainment is booked. Clown Chuckles is doing balloon animals until three. We pose as his assistants." Bill stood up, water streaming from his trousers like a disappointed waterfall. "I don't do balloon animals, Molly. I have a condition. My fingers are too... authoritative. Children would sense my dominance." "We'll get you a disguise. Fake mustache. Maybe a wig." "What about security?" Molly asked, tapping ash into a Diet Coke can. "The parents. The sugar rush. The bounce house is basically a fortress." "The bounce house," Bill repeated, wringing out his socks. "Twelve adults can fit in there. They'll be armed with juice boxes and passive-aggressive judgment. We need a distraction." Molly pulled out a bag of glitter. "I stole this from my niece. Biological warfare." "Glitter?" "Throw it in the air conditioner vent. When it starts snowing indoors, every parent will be blinded, sneezing, checking their phones for weather alerts. Chaos. Total anarchy." Bill nodded slowly, drying his shoes with a hairdryer he'd produced from his jacket. "The presents, though. We're talking about... what? A Nerf gun? A dinosaur egg that hatches in water?" "Lego sets, Bill. Limited edition Lego sets. The Henderson boy is rich. His father's a crypto bro." "A what?" "Cryptocurrency, Bill. Very volatile. Very angry when disappointed." "So we're stealing from a child to fund our retirement?" "We're redistributing wealth," Molly corrected. "Also, cake. I heard there's cake. And those little sandwiches without the crusts." Bill considered this, his mustache twitching. "The timing is crucial. We hit during the piñata. Everyone's looking up, swinging sticks, screaming. Classic misdirection." "And if little Timmy sees us?" "Then we dance," Molly said firmly. "We do the cha-cha. Children love the cha-cha. It disarms them." Bill stood up straight, adjusting his fake mustache, which was actually a dead caterpillar he'd found in the glove compartment. "Let's go over the escape route. The Hendersons have a golden retriever named Biscuit." "Notorious ankle-biter," Molly agreed. "We go through the vegetable garden. There's a gap in the fence behind the tomatoes." "The organic tomatoes?" "The very same. We'll smell like heirlooms, but we'll be free." Molly checked her watch. "Three days. We need to practice the balloon animals. Or at least learn to not look terrified of children." Bill pulled out a fistful of balloons. "Watch me make a dog." He blew, twisted, and produced something that looked like a giraffe with mange. Molly clapped politely. "Perfect," she said. "Absolutely terrifying. The children will fear us. It's perfect."