Run: 2026-10-13-01M4TBXX5APZEE5N1T4MQ280HK

"Remind me again," Bill said, "why we're robbing a six-year-old?" The van idled across the street from a house wearing more balloons than a small parade. Molly spread a hand-drawn map across the steering wheel. "Because a six-year-old whose parents own a boat dealership gets sixty presents, and sixty presents fit in one van." "What's the kid's name?" "Timmy. Do keep up." She tapped the map, which was drawn in crayon. She insisted this added authenticity. "Front door's out. Bouncy castle blocks the garden. We go in as entertainers." "I am not being the clown again." "You're being the clown again." "Last time I was the clown, a dog bit me." "Different job, different dog." "It was the same clown suit, Molly. The suit has trauma." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. You're the balloon artist." "I can't make balloon animals." "Nobody can. You twist it and say it's a giraffe." "What if they ask for a dinosaur?" "Say it's a giraffe with a medical condition." Bill stared out at the house, where a banner read HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY TIMMY in slightly crooked letters. "What about the cake?" "We leave the cake. We're thieves, Bill, not monsters." "And the piñata?" Molly hesitated. "The piñata's negotiable." "Molly." "Fine. The piñata comes with us, but only if there's room." "There's always room for a piñata. That's the first rule of crime." "That is not a rule of crime." "It should be." She pulled a folder from the glove box. "Timmy's file. Likes dinosaurs, karate, and being the fastest boy in the world, according to his grandmother." "Karate?" "Bill." "He's six, Molly. Six-year-olds with karate are the most dangerous kind. No fear, low center of gravity." "You once lost a fight with a revolving door." "That door had momentum." "Grandma's the real wild card," Molly said. "Eyes like a hawk." "Can we distract her?" "With what?" "Balloon giraffe." "Not everything is solved by balloon giraffes, Bill." "Name one thing that isn't." Molly checked her watch. "Party's at two. We arrive at one-thirty as Dazzle the Clown and Professor Balloono." "Which one am I?" "Professor Balloono. The clown suit's in the bin where you left it." "Good. It knows what it did." Bill pulled on a pair of oversized glasses and a fake mustache that immediately peeled off one side. He stuck it to the window for later. "Walk me through it one more time." "Simple. You distract the kids. I load the presents through the patio doors. We're gone before musical chairs." "And if something goes wrong?" "Nothing goes wrong." "Something always goes wrong." "Then we improvise." "Last time we improvised, I spent four hours in a hedge." "The hedge saved your life." "The hedge was on fire, Molly." "It was smoldering. There's a difference." Bill sighed, picked up a balloon, and twisted it into something resembling a deflating sock. He held it up. "Giraffe?" "Medical condition," Molly said, starting the van. "Showtime."