Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1GX2S29SDA0W2ECASACXRR

Molly spread a hand-drawn map across the café table, pinning the corners with sugar dispensers as if the fate of the kingdom depended on pastry-condiment architecture. Outside, rain pasted balloons to the window of the party shop across the street, where a cardboard clown grinned with the haunted confidence of a man who had seen too much. Bill leaned in, trench coat steaming gently. “I still think robbing a children’s party makes us sound less like master thieves and more like tabloid headlines.” “It’s not a children’s party,” Molly said. “It’s a logistics puzzle wrapped in crepe paper. Focus.” He squinted at the map. “This is a bungalow.” “It’s a battlefield,” she corrected. “Front garden, pony rides. Rear patio, magician. Main hall, cake at fourteen hundred. Present table here, under the window, vulnerable and unsupervised except by the aunt with opinions.” Bill stirred his tea with a cocktail stick. “You’ve written ‘Dragon’ near the bouncy castle.” “That’s the dog. Alsatian. Answers to Princess, ironically.” “Wonderful. Nothing lowers the pulse like an ironic guard dog.” Molly tapped the paper. “At one-thirty, parents arrive carrying brightly wrapped loot. They stack it on the table in a pagan tower of consumerism. At one-forty-five, the entertainer begins face-painting. That creates a bottleneck in the hall and a deep emotional distraction involving tigers, butterflies, and one child asking for ‘the concept of thunder.’ At one-fifty, we move.” “We?” She looked over her glasses. “Bill, if I wanted someone to wait in a van eating mint imperials, I’d have hired your cousin.” “My cousin has excellent instincts.” “Your cousin once hid from a night watchman inside a bassoon case.” “And wasn’t found.” Molly had to grant him that with a tilt of the head. Around them, spoons clinked and the waitress watched with the narrowed eyes of a woman deciding whether to call the police or simply charge extra for refills. Bill lowered his voice. “Suppose one of the little beasts spots us.” “Children never see what’s in front of them if someone nearby is producing bubbles,” Molly said. From her bag she withdrew a small silver canister like a priest revealing a relic. “Industrial-grade.” He blinked. “You carry emergency bubbles.” “I prepare professionally.” Bill sat back, impressed despite himself. “All right. Entry?” “Side gate. The latch is broken. We cut through the garden shed, emerge beside the paddling pool, blend with the adults by looking disappointed and holding paper cups.” “I can do disappointed,” Bill said. “My face was built for it.” “Then we approach the present table. You create a diversion.” He pointed at himself. “Why am I always the diversion?” “Because when you panic, you become inventive.” “That is not a compliment.” “It’s the closest you’ll get.” Rain rattled the glass. Across the street, a van unloaded helium tanks with the solemnity of artillery. Bill followed Molly’s finger as she traced the escape route: through the conservatory, over the low fence, into the alley where their borrowed florist’s van waited with MAGNOLIA DREAMS painted in cheerful script. “What if the magician clocks us?” he asked. “He’s booked for balloon animals. No man making a dachshund out of latex has the moral authority to challenge crime.” Bill snorted tea. “And the cake?” “Untouchable. We’re thieves, not anarchists.” He nodded gravely. “Professional standards.” Molly folded the map. “Exactly. We take the presents, leave before the candles, and by dusk every teddy bear, chemistry set, and disturbingly expensive miniature electric car will be halfway to Brighton.” Bill stood, pulling his coat straight. “I can’t believe this is where my talents have led me.” Molly rose too, eyes bright as lockpicks. “Bill, greatness rarely announces itself with dignity. Sometimes it arrives wearing a paper hat.” He considered that, then grinned. “All right. Let’s go rob a birthday.”