Run: 2026-10-13-01M4TAXWWDY68TF075Z6SE9JBV

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the hood of the car, weighing the corners down with a juice box and a half-eaten string cheese. "Right," she said. "Target: 44 Maple Drive. Saturday, two p.m. The Henderson kid turns seven." Bill squinted at the diagram. "Is this floor plan drawn in crayon?" "His older sister drew it. I paid her in gum." Molly tapped the paper. "Front door's a no-go. Bouncy castle's got sightlines over the whole yard." "Bouncy castle," Bill repeated. "So we're talking countermeasures." "Countermeasures," Molly confirmed. "The clown's name is Giggles. Ex-military, probably. They always are. He'll be doing balloon animals near the gift table from two-fifteen onward. That's our window." "What if he makes a balloon giraffe?" "Then we go to plan B." "What's plan B?" "I haven't thought of it yet, but it involves a lot of running." Bill pulled a notepad from his jacket. "Walk me through the score. What are we actually looking at?" Molly produced a photograph, slightly blurry, clearly taken through a hedge. "Thirty-two presents, gift table, northeast corner. The big one's a bike. Red. Tasha's cousin works at the toy store, says the mom spent four hundred on it." "We're stealing a child's bicycle." "We're liberating a child's bicycle. Big difference. One of us sleeps at night." Bill considered this. "What about the piñata?" "Off limits. Piñata's got emotional value. We're thieves, Bill, not monsters." "And the cake?" Molly hesitated. "The cake is negotiable." "You said no cake." "I said the cake is negotiable, which is what you say when you want the cake but don't want to be judged." Bill made a note. "Getaway?" "Minivan. We blend in. Every car on that street is a minivan. We'll be invisible." She rolled up the blueprint. "One more thing. The kids." "What about them?" "Twenty of them. Sugar-fueled. Fast. If the grab goes loud, they swarm. You ever been taken down by a seven-year-old?" "No." "Pray you never are. They go for the knees. It's pack behavior." Bill shuddered. "Dogs?" "One. A golden retriever named Biscuit. He's on the payroll." "You bribed a dog." "I bribed a dog. Two hot dogs a day for a week, and on Saturday, Biscuit looks the other way." Molly checked her watch. "Synchronize. We go in at two-fifteen, grab window's eleven minutes, out by two-twenty-six. Nobody gets hurt, nobody cries, nobody pops a balloon near my ear. You know how I feel about balloons." "Noted." "And Bill?" "Yeah?" "If you eat cake at the scene, I'm leaving you behind." Bill slowly put the fork back in his pocket. "How did you—" "I know you."