Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAK1HZBH4A420GTQJTJF8Q

The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt sticky under Molly’s elbows. She stabbed a rogue French fry with a fork. “Okay, run it by me again, Bill. Just so I’m absolutely clear on the level of ridiculousness we’re operating at.” Bill, meticulously folding and refolding his napkin into a perfect swan, sighed. “It’s not ridiculous, it’s… niche. A highly specific market. Untapped potential.” “We’re stealing presents from a six-year-old’s birthday party.” “Precisely. And not just *any* six-year-old. Barnaby Butterfield the Third. His father owns Butterfield Robotics. Think high-end, remotely operated…lawn gnomes. Extremely lucrative lawn gnomes.” Molly blinked. “Lawn gnomes funding a children’s party? That’s…sad.” “Sad doesn't put money in our pockets, Molly. These aren't your dime-store plastic nightmares. We’re talking limited edition, handcrafted, possibly even sentient lawn gnomes. The presents will be proportionally impressive. Lego castles, miniature train sets, remote-controlled dinosaurs. Gold, Molly, gold!” “Okay, gold. I see. But a party? Really?” Bill stopped mid-swan-fold. “What else am I supposed to do? Crack a bank vault dressed as a clown? This is low risk, high reward. Think about it. Parental distraction, sugar-fueled chaos, a mountain of desirable goods. We go in, grab the gifts, and blend in with the departing guests.” “Blend in? Bill, we're wearing all black. Even for a heist, it’s a bit… on the nose.” “Details, details. We'll look like responsible party chaperones. Very serious about attending children’s birthdays.” He resumed his origami. “The plan is simple. You create a diversion. Something believable. A lost balloon, a rogue pinata, a spontaneous flash mob.” “A flash mob? Where am I going to find a flash mob on twenty-four hours notice?” “Improvise! That's what you're good at. Sing a sea shanty. Juggle kittens. I don’t care. Just get their attention. Meanwhile, I will quietly liberate the presents.” “Liberate? You mean steal.” “Semantics! I will quietly *relocate* the presents to a more secure location. Our van.” Molly picked at her plate. “And what about the parents? Surely they’ll notice a colossal pile of presents vanishing.” “That's where the bags come in. Large, brightly coloured, themed gift bags. We replace the stolen gifts with…lesser items. Socks. Fruit. Educational pamphlets about the proper care of lawn gnomes.” “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Molly said, a slow grin spreading across her face. “I always do. Now, are you in or are you going to spend another afternoon complaining about the scarcity of decent pickpocketing opportunities?” “Fine. I’m in. But if I have to sing a sea shanty, I’m blaming you for everything.”