Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAFMGJ9F81TX074ARAG260

The back room of Bill's van smelled of popcorn and bad decisions. Molly unrolled a blueprint across the hood of a stolen ice cream truck and pinned the corners with two pickle jars and a rubber duck. Bill leaned over it, cracking his knuckles one at a time. "Okay," Molly said, tapping the paper. "The party's at 42 Maple Court. Birthday girl is turning seven. There's a bouncy castle in the backyard, eleven kids, and one clown." "Clowns are the hard part," Bill said. "They don't blink. I've read about it." "Focus. The gift table is in the living room, behind the sliding doors. Eleven presents, all wrapped in glittery paper. We're in and out in six minutes." "What about the parents?" Molly flipped a page with a flourish. "Parents are in the kitchen, drinking wine out of juice boxes. I did recon. Trust me." Bill squinted at a red X near the patio. "And the dog?" "There's no dog." "Molly. There is always a dog." She sighed through her nose, the way she did when she was losing an argument she had already started. "Fine. There's a dog. His name is Sir Waddles, and he's terrified of balloons. So we bring balloons." "That's either genius or insane." "It's both. Now, you go in dressed as the bounce house inspector. Clipboard, hard hat, lots of confidence." "And you?" "I'm the magician's assistant. Top hat, sequins, very distracting. While the kids watch me make a rabbit disappear, you grab the boxes and load them into the wagon." Bill looked toward the back doors, where a small, pink wagon sat hitched to the bumper. A plastic unicorn head was bolted to its front. "Why is the wagon a unicorn?" "Because nobody looks twice at a unicorn wagon, Bill. Nobody." He considered this with the grave seriousness of a man weighing a life-changing decision. "What if a kid asks questions?" "Tell them the truth. Say the present fairy needs them to go to bed early." "Kids don't believe in present fairies." "Kids believe in everything until they're nine. We have a window." Bill picked up a roll of tape from the pile by his boot and frowned at it. It was the size of a tractor tire. "Why do we have forty feet of tape?" "For the piñata. Obviously." "We are not stealing the piñata." "Nobody is stealing the piñata. I'm just prepared." Molly rolled up the blueprint and tucked it under her arm, already halfway out the door. The late afternoon light caught the sequins on her costume bag and scattered them across the gravel like tiny stars. Bill hesitated, then followed her out. "Alright. One last thing. What's our escape route?" Molly grinned and pointed at the ice cream truck idling by the curb, its music box jingle tinkling cheerfully into the empty street. "We drive out playing that song really loud," she said. "Nobody chases an ice cream truck." Bill stared at it for a long, reverent moment. "Nobody chases an ice cream truck," he whispered. "Exactly. Now let's go be villains."