Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DA33BSSTTR92WJ0XWY4GZQ

The van idled behind the Maple Street community hall, headlights off, radio playing a polka station Bill had refused to change. Molly squinted through the windshield at the bounce house glowing under the party lights. A man in a clown suit was eating cake on the porch steps. "Eleven kids," she said. "Eleven kids and a clown. Bill, I don't like the clown." "Nobody likes the clown. That's why he's the clown." Bill pulled his ski mask down over his eyes for the third time. It had slid back up twice already. "Okay. Plan's simple. You go in the side door pretending to be the magician's assistant." "I'm not the magician's assistant." "You are now." He held up a stuffed rabbit with a price tag still dangling from its ear. "Here's the rabbit." "That's from the dollar store." "It's a prop." Molly sighed and took it, tucking it under her arm like a tiny, judgmental witness. Across the lawn, a banner read HAPPY 7TH, EMMA! in glitter letters that were already peeling off at one corner. "And what do you do?" she asked. "I take the gift table. Forty-two presents, Molly. Shiny paper, ribbon curls, little cards that say 'From Grandma.' I estimate the haul at two hundred dollars in Lego sets and one very confusing robot dinosaur." "Two hundred dollars isn't much for a heist." "It's a lot for a seven-year-old." She opened the van door. The polka music drifted out, cheerful and oblivious. "Fine. What if the birthday girl catches me?" "Tell her the rabbit is sick and needs to go to the hospital. Kids love that. Works every time." "You've done this before?" "Once. The bounce house was still inflated when I left, so I'd call it a partial success." Molly paused with one foot on the gravel. Behind her, on the back seat, a pink tutu lay draped over a bag of tools. "Bill. Why is there a tutu in the van?" "Disguise." "For who?" He cleared his throat. "Look, the sheriff is across town at bingo night. The parents are all out in the parking lot arguing about property taxes. Nobody's watching the presents except a sad man in a clown suit." "Clowns are always watching." "Not this one. He's been eating cake since six." Molly grinned despite herself and climbed out. The cool night air smelled of popcorn and cut grass. "Side door. Rabbit. Stay calm." "And if anybody asks, we're from the party rental company." "That's a terrible cover story." "We have matching shirts." He pointed through the window at the orange vests on the dashboard, each stenciled BOUNCE HOUSE CREW. "Those are from the bounce house." "We borrowed them." "Bill..." "Ssh. Focus. Grab the presents, load them in the van, and drive off like honest businesspeople." Molly pulled her mask on and adjusted the rabbit under her arm. "We're about to steal presents from a child's birthday party. Do you understand how bad that makes us?" "Sweetheart," Bill said, shutting his door with a careful click, "we're the worst. That's why it's going to work." They slipped across the lawn toward the glowing windows, past the clown, who waved at them with a fork full of cake, and toward the forty-two tiny, unsuspecting gifts waiting inside.