Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9MGVA40Z429X3165103BJ

The van idled beside a row of pastel balloons tied to Mrs. Peabody’s fence. Through the windshield, Molly watched tiny pirates waddle in plastic swords, while Bill adjusted his black gloves like they were formalwear. Their bag lay open, hungry as a duffel can be, beside a clipboard labeled “FUN.” The air smelled of frosting and impending felony. A karaoke machine squealed inside; every off-key note felt like cover. Bill slid the panda mascot head onto his lap, its dead stitched eyes judging them both. Molly clicked a timer, because punctuality was her only virtue. She opened the sliding door. “Bill, this party’s a gold mine of wrapped rectangles,” Molly said. “Children’s rectangles,” Bill whispered. “Still rectangles.” “We slip in as entertainers. I’ll juggle, you’ll mime.” “I can’t mime; my face leaks guilt.” “Wear the panda head. No one suspects pandas.” “And the presents?” “We wait for ‘Happy Birthday.’ Everyone sings, nobody watches hands.” “So I grab the pile?” “Only the good ones: the heavy boxes and anything that hums.” “What if a kid tackles me?” “Give them a sticker and run.” “And if parents chase?” “We vanish into the bouncy castle. It’s basically a foam bank vault, at once.”