Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C6B0J1P7AVMFS7VP6R8SNE

Molly lowered the binoculars and wiped condensation from the van window. The dark van smelled of old coffee and fresh ambition. “Bill, remind me why we’re robbing a six-year-old’s birthday party.” “Because the briefcase is full of unmarked envelopes,” Bill said, tapping the dashboard with a chicken drumstick. “And because you said no more banks after the crayon incident.” “The crayon incident was not my fault. The teller’s child left them in the cash drawer.” “You drew a moustache on the security guard.” Molly checked her watch. A clown cartwheeled past the windshield, honking. “Party starts at two. Thirty kids, two clowns, one bouncy castle. I count three exits.” “Four if you include the serving hatch,” Bill said, unfolding a napkin map across his knees. “It’s exactly wide enough for the presents sack.” “And exactly narrow enough for you after a plate of nachos.” She tapped the map. The napkin crackled like a tiny legal document. “Here’s the plan. You go in as the magician’s assistant. Top hat, cape, vague air of mystery.” “I don’t do vague. I do menacing.” “Then menace the birthday boy into handing over the gift table.” “Bill, he’s six.” “Six-year-olds are ruthless negotiators. He’ll ask for a cut.” “Fine. What are you doing?” “I’m the piñata.” Molly stared at him for a long, unblinking moment. Bill adjusted his donkey ears with professional pride. “You’re the what?” “The piñata. I wear the donkey costume, hang from the pergola, and unhook presents while the kids swing.” “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” “It’s also the only plan where nobody searches the donkey.” Molly squinted through the windshield. Across the street, a balloon arch shuddered in the breeze. “What about the clown?” “The one with the whistle and the suspiciously good footwork.” “He’s a mall cop. Off duty.” “He arrested me at a wedding.” “Bouncy castle incident. Long story. He’ll be distracted by balloon animals.” “And the parents?” “They’ll be filming. Nobody watches a crime through a phone screen.” Bill drew a small circle on the napkin. He shaded the gift table with a ketchup packet. “Problem: presents stay in the party room until cake, then move to the gift table by the door.” “During ‘Happy Birthday.’” “Exactly. Loud singing, candles, weeping parents. We swap presents for wrapped bricks.” “Of course you did.” Molly nodded slowly. She pulled a kazoo from her pocket and polished it on her sleeve. “We need a signal. Something subtle.” “I’ll sneeze twice.” “You sneeze like a foghorn.” “Once, then. A dignified honk.” “No. Use the kazoo.” “I hate the kazoo.” “The kazoo is subtle.” “The kazoo is a war crime.” Bill folded the napkin and tucked it into his sleeve. “Agreed. Magician’s assistant, donkey piñata, swap gifts during the song, out through the serving hatch.” “And no one gets hurt.” “Except the clown’s feelings.” “Fine. The clown’s feelings can take it.” Molly checked the mirror, pulled on a fake beard, and opened the van door. “Let’s go steal a birthday.”