Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94J0MWCNE2J5R5V8HE65V1

"A children's party, Bill? Are you absolutely, undeniably, mind-blowingly for real?" Molly’s voice was a low growl, but the faint glitter in her eyes betrayed her. She leaned over the crumpled invitation like it was a top-secret blueprint, one manicured finger tracing the elaborate cursive 'Felicity' on the RSVP line. "It's genius, Molly! Think about it! The weakest link in the security chain is always the squawking, sugar-addled mob. No alarms, no laser grids, just… cake and balloons. And possibly a very sticky clown." Bill gesticulated wildly with a half-eaten doughnut, crumbs scattering over a crude map of what appeared to be a suburban cul-de-sac. "And what about the frantic parents? They're not exactly pushovers when little Timmy’s new LEGO Death Star goes missing. Especially if Timmy’s dad is Brenda from accounting, who still sends me passive-aggressive emails about that stapler incident from '98." "Brenda’s not here! This is Felicity’s fifth birthday. Felicity, Molly! She'll be too busy being five and sticky to notice anything. And the parents? They'll be too distracted by the endless, ear-shattering loop of 'Wheels on the Bus' and the dubious quality of the face paint. We'll be practically invisible." Molly snorted. "Invisible? You’re suggesting two people smelling faintly of stale cigarettes and desperation are going to blend in at a toddler rave? How are we getting in, exactly? Are we crashing as a disgruntled balloon artist and his perpetually unimpressed assistant?" "I was thinking more along the lines of… professional party entertainers. I can do a mean magic trick." Bill grandly pulled a slightly grimy fifty pence piece from behind Molly's ear. She didn't even flinch. "That's lovely, Bill. And you just coughed on it. Besides, your stage name, 'Mysterious Bill,' is about as subtle as a foghorn in a library. And what exactly are we going to do when little Felicity demands a live rabbit out of a hat? Are you going to pull out a half-eaten baguette?" "Details, details! The point is, we distract, we gather, we vanish. The presents are probably all conveniently located in one spot, right? Near the cake, usually. Easy pickings." He tapped the crumpled invitation. "Says 'Bouncy Castle Bonanza' and 'Pizza Party Extravaganza.' A child's dream. An adult thief's bonanza." "And the presents, Bill? You really think Felicity is getting anything remotely decent these days? It's all gift cards and 'My First Coding Kit' puzzles. And don't tell me you're planning on reselling a 'Rainbow Unicorn Sparkle Diary' to our usual fence, Terry. He's barely moved those signed copies of 'Great Expectations'." "Terry could use a coding kit, Molly. Might help him sort his inventory. Anyway, there's always a couple of quality items. A remote control drone, maybe a brand-new bicycle. And even gift cards add up. Think of the *aggregate value*!" "Aggregate value," Molly muttered, running a hand through her already messy hair. "Last time you calculated 'aggregate value,' we ended up with three slightly used garden gnomes, a subscription to 'Poultry Enthusiast Magazine,' and a single, deflated swimming pool inflatable shaped like a flamingo." Still, there was something… appealing about the sheer, unadulterated audacity of it. She looked at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "No violence, no alarm systems, just… strategically misplaced children's entertainment and a rapid exit strategy?" "Exactly! Clean as a whistle. Like taking candy from a baby, Molly, literally!" Bill beamed, polishing the coin on his sleeve. "Fine," she sighed, a small smile finally playing on her lips. "But if I have to listen to 'Baby Shark' one more time, I'm using that new bicycle to make a quick getaway, and you're getting left behind to explain why the bouncy castle deflated and all the sparkly diaries disappeared." "Deal!" Bill chirped, already imagining the haul. "Now, about my magician's costume… do we think top hat or more of a sequined cape?"