Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WYJ8WA24H1VVBHV7AQVMN

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the hood of the rusted van and smoothed out the wrinkles with both palms. It had been drawn by her nephew three years ago and was originally meant to depict a dinosaur, but it served its current purpose well enough. "The bounce house is our biggest problem," she said, tapping a lopsided pink rectangle near the center of the page. Bill squinted at the map and then squinted at Molly. "That's a dinosaur." "It's a bounce house. Focus. The presents will be stacked on the gift table, which is here." She pointed to what was clearly labeled, in a child's handwriting, as a volcano. "Why does the volcano say gifts on it?" "Because I wrote that. Will you please concentrate?" Bill pulled his collar up against the autumn chill and leaned closer. He smelled like the gas station hotdog he had eaten thirty minutes ago and showed no remorse about it. "Okay, so we go in through the back garden gate, avoid the bounce house, grab the presents, and walk out like we own the place." "Walk out like we're catering staff," Molly corrected. "Which is why we're wearing the aprons." "Mine has a duck on it." "Ducks are professional." She rolled the map up and tucked it under her arm. "The party starts at two. The parents will be distracted by seventeen screaming six-year-olds and a magician named the Magnificent Gerald." Bill brightened considerably. "Is Gerald actually magnificent?" "Gerald does a trick where a scarf comes out of his pocket. That is the whole trick. Gerald is not magnificent." "So we have a window." "A solid forty-five minutes before the cake comes out and everyone reassembles. By then we load the presents into the van and we're gone before anyone notices we aren't holding juice boxes." Bill scratched the back of his neck and gazed across the quiet suburban street toward number fourteen, where balloons were already being tied to the front gate in aggressive quantities. A hand-painted banner read HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZOEY with a unicorn that appeared to be screaming. "I feel a little bad," he said quietly. "Taking presents from a kid." Molly turned to look at him with the weary patience of someone who had been partners with Bill for eleven years. "We are donating them to the community centre raffle. Every single present goes to charity. We have discussed this four times." "Right, right." He nodded with fresh conviction. "We're basically Robin Hood." "We are exactly Robin Hood. Except Robin Hood probably never wore a duck apron." "I think it gives me an air of authority." Molly climbed into the van, and the suspension groaned under the weight of stolen catering equipment and two large empty sacks. Bill followed, settling into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt with ceremonial clicking. "Operation Birthday Bandit," he announced to no one in particular. Molly started the engine. "Please never say that again," she said.