Run: 2026-10-13-01M4TBX8E406BQG0BQT8DRNSMZ

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the hood of their rusted sedan, weighing down the corners with a half-eaten gas station burrito. Across the street, balloons sagged on the target's mailbox beneath a glittery sign: HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY TYLER. "This is the target," she said. "Six-year-old's birthday. Backyard. Bouncy castle here, snack table here, and here—" she tapped a rectangle drawn in crayon, "—the present table. Mother lode." Bill squinted, orange cheese-puff dust on his fingers. "Why's the blueprint in crayon?" "I stole it off the kid's refrigerator door. It's called reconnaissance, Bill." "Why's there a dog on it?" "That's a pony. They're getting a pony." Bill whistled. "Are we stealing the pony?" "We're stealing the presents, Bill. Focus." "Could we steal the pony?" "No." "Only, my cousin's got a trailer—" "Bill." "Right. Presents." A mother pushing a stroller walked past. They waved like normal citizens. She waved back. Molly waited until she turned the corner. "Party starts at two. At two-thirty, the clown arrives. That's our window." "The clown's our window?" "Nobody watches anything when a clown's working. Kids are mesmerized. Parents check their phones. The clown is a walking distraction." "What if the clown sees us?" "What's he gonna do, honk at us?" Bill considered this. "My Uncle Ray was a clown. He'd have honked." "Your Uncle Ray was arrested at a mini-golf course, so maybe we don't use him as the benchmark." "That was a misunderstanding about a windmill." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose and jabbed a finger at the blueprint. "We go in dressed as the balloon animal guy's assistants. I told Tyler's mom we're with the party company." "There's a balloon animal guy?" "There is now. You're him." "I can't make balloon animals." "You don't have to. You just have to look like a man who regrets his life choices, which, frankly, is your best look." Bill frowned. "What's your job?" "I'll be by the present table with a big gift bag, 'reorganizing.' Everything goes in the bag. Out the side gate. Into the car. Ninety seconds, tops." "And what do we do if a kid catches us?" "You make him a balloon animal." "I can't make balloon animals, Molly!" "Make a balloon snake. It's the same balloon, you just don't do anything. Tell him it's a worm. Kids love worms." Bill opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She was right. Kids did love worms. "What's the take? What's in a six-year-old's presents?" Molly smiled like a woman who'd done the math. "Legos, Bill. Untraceable. High resale value. And at least one grandma always gives a savings bond." "How much is a savings bond worth?" "Fifty bucks." "We're robbing a child for fifty bucks?" "Plus Legos." Bill thought about it, then nodded slowly. "When do we leave?" "Saturday. Wear something festive." "Like a tie?" "Like a man who makes balloon animals for money and hates himself." "I've got just the shirt." Molly rolled up the blueprint, grabbed the burrito, and headed for the driver's seat. Behind them, somewhere in the target's backyard, a pony neighed, and Bill looked back longingly.