Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAM1DDNDRN8NYHR3510H93

The rain drummed on the roof of the white van parked three houses down from the Pemberton birthday party. Molly squinted through binoculars at the bouncy castle wheezing on the front lawn. "Seven-year-old Tyler's party," she said. "Forty kids, one clown, and a mountain of presents the size of a garden shed." Bill cracked a walnut between his fingers and dropped the shell into the cup holder. "Forty kids is a lot of witnesses, Moll." "Kids don't witness anything. They're too busy eating blue frosting." She lowered the binoculars. "Tell me the plan again." Bill unfolded a blueprint across his knees. It was drawn on the back of a cereal box. "Phase one: we walk in through the side gate dressed as party clowns." "We don't have clown costumes." "We have the clown's car. It's parked in the driveway with the door open." "That's not a plan, Bill. That's a clown car with the door open." He tapped a rectangle labeled GARAGE. "Phase two: the presents are stacked in there. We load them into the van using a ramp." "What ramp?" "The skateboard ramp from my nephew's birthday. I borrowed it." Molly sighed and pulled on a balaclava with a cartoon unicorn stitched across the forehead. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm telling them it was your idea." "Fair. Oh, and the security system." "Let me guess. A baby monitor." "A baby monitor," Bill confirmed proudly, holding up a plastic gadget the size of a sandwich. "I've rigged it to play lullabies whenever anyone gets too close." Molly stared at him. "That's actually clever." "Thank you." They crept across the lawn at half past three, skirting the bouncy castle, which groaned like an asthmatic dragon. Inside the garage, presents towered in shimmering paper, each tagged with a name in crayon. Molly grabbed a box shaped like a tricycle. Bill hefted a glittering bundle that rattled suspiciously. "Bill," Molly whispered, "what's in that one?" "Says here it's a Lego Death Star. Ages eight and up." "We're robbing a seven-year-old." "We are not robbing a child. We are redistributing his joy to people who need it more." "Who needs it more than a seven-year-old?" "Me. Mostly me. I've never had a Death Star." Somewhere in the house, a door creaked open. Both thieves froze. The baby monitor in Bill's pocket began playing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" at full volume. "Bill!" "That's not me! That's the monitor!" A tiny voice called from the hallway. "Mommy? Is the clown still here?" Molly grabbed the tricycle box and sprinted for the side gate. Bill scooped up the Death Star, tripped over a squeaky plastic dinosaur, and rolled into a garden hose. By the time they reached the van, the lullaby had switched to a tuba fanfare, and somewhere behind them, a very confused clown was shouting for his car keys.