Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKB57KS29SJN4YWDACQPQKP

Molly crouched behind the hydrangeas, peering through the slats of the backyard fence. Streamers sagged like tired rainbows, and a balloon arch hovered over a table stacked with cupcakes that looked too cheerful to be legal. Bill adjusted the cheap magician’s cape he’d insisted on wearing. “Tell me again why we’re robbing a seven-year-old.” “We’re not robbing a seven-year-old,” Molly whispered. “We’re liberating unattended assets from a chaotic environment.” Bill blinked. “That’s your way of saying presents.” “That’s my way of saying nobody will notice until the sugar crash,” she said. “Look at them. They’re pinning a tail on something that isn’t even a donkey. It’s a unicorn with emotional issues.” Bill leaned in. “I see a piñata. That thing is full of candy.” “We’re professionals,” Molly said. “We take the wrapped boxes, not the loose glucose. Besides, candy melts. Boxes hold their value.” Bill squinted at the gift table. “How many?” Molly counted with her eyes. “Fifteen medium. Four big. One suspiciously light bag that screams ‘socks.’” Bill frowned. “Socks are the worst kind of crime.” “Agreed,” Molly said. “We leave socks. We’re thieves, not monsters.” Bill tugged his collar. “So what’s the plan? We stroll in and say we’re… what? The entertainment?” Molly glanced at his cape. “You already committed to that.” “I thought the cape would say ‘authority,’” Bill muttered. “It says ‘regional birthday clown who got fired for pocketing the bubbles,’” Molly said. “But yes. Entertainment. I’ll be the assistant.” Bill brightened. “Do you get a cape?” “No,” Molly said. “I get a clipboard. Clipboards get you anywhere. People see a clipboard and assume you have permission to ruin their day.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Clipboards are basically badges.” Molly pulled a clipboard from her bag like a magician producing a rabbit with student debt. “We enter through the side gate. We announce we’re with ‘Wham-Bam Party Program.’ I point at the schedule, you make a balloon animal.” Bill stared. “I don’t know how to make balloon animals.” “You know how to tie a knot,” Molly said. “Make a balloon… concept. Call it a ‘minimalist giraffe.’ Parents love that art-gallery nonsense.” Bill exhaled. “Okay. Then what?” “Then you distract them with your ‘magic show,’” Molly said. “I ‘inventory the gifts for the thank-you-note system.’ I load them into the wagon.” Bill looked down at the red wagon beside them. A faded sticker read WORLD’S BEST GRANDSON. “This wagon says we have a grandson.” “We do now,” Molly said. “Focus. The wagon goes to the alley. We transfer to the van. We leave before anyone realizes the magician is stealing their future.” Bill licked his lips. “What about the kids? Kids are observant.” Molly snorted. “Kids are only observant when you’re hiding vegetables. Give them a shiny coin and a loud noise and they’ll forget their own names.” Bill patted his pockets. “I brought coins.” “Great,” Molly said. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend it came from behind their ear. That’s how you get bitten.” Bill recoiled. “I got bitten once.” “I know,” Molly said. “You still flinch when someone says ‘teething.’” Bill pointed through the fence. “Wait. Is that a bouncy castle?” Molly narrowed her eyes. “Yes. The fun fortress. Why?” Bill’s voice turned reverent. “We could stash the presents inside the bouncy castle while you ‘count’ them. It’s basically a giant inflatable safe.” “Or a giant inflatable confession,” Molly said. “Everyone will notice the bouncy castle has a suspicious lumpy corner.” Bill grinned. “We blame it on a child.” Molly paused, then sighed. “You’re horrible.” “Thank you,” Bill said. Molly checked her watch. “Alright. Showtime. Remember: confidence. Smile like you belong.” Bill stood, cape fluttering heroically in the breeze. “I was born for this.” “You were born in a Walmart parking lot,” Molly said, grabbing his sleeve. “Now go be magical.” Bill took a deep breath. “If this goes wrong, we run.” “If this goes right,” Molly said, “we run with better stuff.” They slipped toward the gate as the birthday song began, off-key and enthusiastic, the perfect cover for professional nonsense. Bill whispered, “Do we sing too?” Molly hissed, “Absolutely not.” Bill nodded. “Good. I only know the first four words anyway.”