# The Birthday Caper Molly crouched behind the inflatable bounce castle, studying the gymnasium through her binoculars. The children's birthday party raged on before her, a cacophony of screaming six-year-olds and exhausted parents. Streamers hung from the rafters like limp spaghetti, and in the corner sat the treasure: a mountain of wrapped presents stacked haphazardly on a folding table. Bill appeared beside her, breathing heavily, his black turtleneck riding up to reveal a rather unfortunate belly button lint situation. "How many security guards?" he whispered. "Two. One by the cake, one by the bathrooms. Both distracted," Molly replied. "Though that clown keeps wandering around making balloon animals. That's our main obstacle." "The clown? Really? We've robbed museums, Molly." "Clowns are unpredictable, Bill. You know this." He adjusted his fake mustache, which was already peeling off on one corner. "What's the plan?" Molly pointed toward the gift table. "We go in through the south entrance. You create a diversion near the snack table. Grab some of those punch bowls, knock them over. Blame it on the birthday kid." "That seems harsh," Bill said, watching a pigtailed child named Sophie brutalize a piñata with a plastic bat. "Sophie doesn't even look sad. She looks vindictive. She can handle it." Molly checked her watch. "We have seven minutes during the present-opening ceremony. Once parents start filming, everyone's phones are out. Security gets lazy." Bill scratched his chin. "What about the clown?" "Leave him to me. I'll have him doing face paintings in the corner." "How exactly?" "I told him my face has an 'interesting bone structure.' He's already gotten artistic. You should go with it, Bill. Lean into the method acting of it all." Bill looked at her like she'd suggested they rob an active volcano. "I'm not letting a clown paint my face." "You're going to have to. It's part of the plan." He sighed dramatically. "I became a criminal to avoid structured activities, Molly. Face painting feels incredibly structured." She ignored him, continuing her reconnaissance. "Backup plan: if we get spotted, we hide in the ball pit. Nobody thinks to look in ball pits. It's the oldest trick in the book." "That's not a trick, that's just... hiding in a children's ball pit. That's just sad." "Do you have a better idea?" Bill was quiet for a moment. "The presents are wrapped. We don't even know what we're stealing." Molly lowered her binoculars and looked at him seriously. "That's the beauty of it, Bill. The mystery. The potential. That's what being a thief is really about." They sat in silence, watching the chaos unfold before them. The clown twisted a balloon into what might have been a sword or possibly a very deformed giraffe. A child named Marcus knocked over a juice box directly onto another child's shoes, and nobody even reacted. "Fine," Bill said finally. "I'll do the diversion. But I'm not happy about it." "You're never happy, Bill." "That's fair."