Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1H3QZTZ69XTMSGH45T1F0F

Molly spread a crayon-scribbled neighborhood map across the sticky café table and pinned the corners with sugar shakers. Outside, rain polished the pavement to a villainous shine. Bill leaned in, wearing the solemn expression of a man about to discuss state secrets, though he still had a paper cupcake liner stuck to his sleeve from reconnaissance. “Right,” Molly said. “Target is the Henderson house. Tomorrow. Three o’clock. Peak chaos.” Bill nodded gravely. “A children’s party. Nature’s perfect crime scene. Screaming, frosting, tiny shoes everywhere. No witness can form a complete sentence.” “Except the birthday girl. Seven years old. Sharp eyes. Corrected a magician in public.” “That’s chilling,” Bill said. “What’s the haul?” “Conservative estimate? Twelve boxed gifts, three gift bags, one suspiciously large plush giraffe, and possibly an envelope from an aunt who believes cash builds character.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “I do love character.” Molly tapped the map. “Front garden has balloons on the gate. Decorative, yes, but also tactical. They obscure the sightline from the road. We go in disguised as entertainers.” Bill blinked. “Entertainers?” “Would you rather go in disguised as moral people?” He considered it. “Too ambitious.” A waitress drifted by and topped up their coffees. Molly waited until she’d gone. “I’ve got a clown suit from Margate,” Bill said. “No clowning,” Molly replied. “Children remember clowns forever. We need low-impact deception. Face painter and assistant.” Bill sat up. “I can paint a tiger.” “You paint all animals the same. Your tiger looked like a furious sofa.” “It was abstract.” “It was stripy upholstery with whiskers.” Bill took the insult with dignity. “Fine. What’s my role?” “You carry the kit, smile reassuringly, and say things like, ‘Who wants a rainbow?’ while I locate the present table.” “That I can do. I’ve got an excellent rainbow voice.” She narrowed her eyes. “Demonstrate.” “Who wants a rainbow?” he asked, with unsettling cheer. Molly winced. “Less game-show host, more underpaid art student.” Bill lowered his tone. “Who wants a rainbow?” “Better. Add disappointment.” “Who wants a rainbow,” he sighed. “Perfect.” She drew a line toward the side gate. “Escape route is through the garden, over the fence, into the alley. I’ve timed the parents. At four-fifteen they sing. At four-seventeen they cut cake. At four-eighteen everyone loses institutional control.” Bill grinned. “And that’s when we liberate the loot.” “Exactly. Gifts into the painter’s trunk, trunk into the van, van away before anyone notices the giraffe has joined organized crime.” He sipped his coffee. “Any complications?” “Two. One: a dog named Alan.” Bill frowned. “That’s not a dog’s name.” “No, which means the owners are whimsical. Whimsical people are dangerous. Alan barks at strangers and once swallowed part of a pirate costume.” “Can he be bribed?” “With sausage rolls, yes. Two: there’s a mother on the guest list named Priya. Former escape room champion.” Bill went quiet. “The competitive sort?” “She brought her own stopwatch to a barbecue.” He straightened. “Then we move clean and fast. No improvising.” Molly smiled. “Bill, our entire professional identity is improvising after a terrible plan.” “Fair point. Still, I’d like to wear gloves. Tiny fingerprints are everywhere at those things.” She folded the map. “One more rule.” “What’s that?” “No eating the evidence.” He looked wounded. “I had one fondant dinosaur.” “You had six and called it surveillance.” Bill rose, solemn again, and plucked the cupcake liner from his sleeve. “Tomorrow, then. We walk into that party, charm the minors, outwit Alan, and leave with enough wrapping paper to heat my flat for a week.” Molly stood and slipped the map into her coat. “And Bill?” “Yes?” “If you paint a sofa on any child’s face, I’m abandoning you to the magician.” Bill shuddered. “Understood. Professional standards.”