Run: 2026-10-13-01M4TC3TY7NTX6C4A81CHSDAQN

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the car, weighing down the corners with a juice box and a half-eaten dinosaur nugget. "Alright, Bill. The Henderson residence. Saturday, two p.m. Timmy Henderson turns seven, and we turn a profit." Bill squinted at the map. "Molly, why is the blueprint drawn in crayon?" "Because I infiltrated the target's arts and crafts hour yesterday. Deep cover. I was Aunt Molly." "You don't have a sister." "That's what made it so convincing." Bill rubbed his temples. "Walk me through it." "The presents arrive between one-thirty and two. They get stacked on the gift table, here, next to the bouncy castle. That's our window." "How big's the haul?" "Conservative estimate? Twenty gifts. One's a bike. Timmy's grandmother is loaded and has no imagination." "Security?" Molly tapped the map with a nugget. "One clown, name of Giggles. Possibly ex-military; the man makes balloon animals like he's defusing bombs. A piñata hanging over the patio, which is a crowd control risk. And the mother, Sharon. Room mom. Black belt in small talk. Do not engage her, Bill. She will ask where you went to high school, and she will know." "Jesus." "We go in as entertainers. You're the magician." "I can't do magic." "You can pull a rabbit out of a hat." "That's the only trick I know, and last time the rabbit bit a child." "Then you're the DJ." "I own one CD, Molly, and it's whale sounds." "Perfect. Ambient. Kids love whales." Bill paced, tugging his mustache. The fake one. The good one. Forty dollars at Janine's Costume Barn. "Exit strategy?" "Bounce house. We stash the gifts in garbage bags, tell Sharon it's a donation drive for less fortunate children—" "That's terrible." "—which is technically true, because we are less fortunate. Then we bounce, literally, over the fence into the alley where Dave's waiting with the van." "Dave? Dave gets carsick." "Dave's fine." "Dave threw up during the Panera job." "Dave threw up because you gave him the last broccoli cheddar and he's got a nervous stomach!" Bill held up his hands. "Okay. Okay. What about the piñata? Twenty sugared-up seven-year-olds swinging a stick between us and freedom." Molly smiled the smile she reserved for vaults, vents, and very small safes. "Already handled. I bribed the birthday boy." "With what?" "A sneak peek at the bike. Timmy's ours now. He'll swing low, take out Giggles at the knees. Chaos. Cotton candy everywhere. In the confusion, we walk out with the whole table." Bill stared at her with something close to awe. "You turned a seven-year-old." "I turned the seven-year-old. The birthday boy. The one person at that party nobody questions." "Remind me why we don't rob banks." "Because banks have alarms, Bill. Birthday parties have cake." She folded the blueprint. "And after the job, we're having cake."