Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HJMJ37D0JQG5YDB0EV49F

“Tell me again,” Molly said, flattening the crumpled invitation on the café table, “why we are robbing a six-year-old named Arlo.” “We are not robbing Arlo,” Bill said. “We are relieving a roomful of inattentive adults of their gift-management responsibilities.” “That is robbery with extra syllables.” “It’s logistics. Besides, children’s parties are chaos wrapped in bunting. No one notices anything. There’s sugar, screaming, a magician with boundary issues. It’s perfect.” Molly sipped her tea and squinted at the invitation. “Dragon Castle Adventure Party. Community hall. Two o’clock. Bring your own socks for the bouncy moat. They really thought of everything.” “Not everything,” Bill said. “They forgot to imagine us.” “That line is why I drink.” Bill leaned in and tapped the paper. “Three entrances. Main door, kitchen side door, and fire exit by the toilets. Present table here, next to the cake. Critical mistake. Everyone looks at cake. No one looks at presents until the ceremonial frenzy.” “And your plan?” “We go in as entertainers.” Molly laughed so hard tea nearly escaped through her nose. “You? Entertaining children? You look like a man who complains to pigeons.” “I have range.” “You have hay fever.” “I’ll be a wizard,” Bill said. “Children trust capes.” “They do not trust your face in a cape. You’d look like a tax inspector at a renaissance fair.” “Fine. Balloon artist.” “You tied a knot in your own cuff last week and asked me for scissors.” Bill straightened. “Then we go in as parents.” Molly tilted her head. “That is disturbingly plausible. You already have the haunted look.” “Thank you. We arrive with purpose, carrying a large, innocent-looking box. We blend. We circulate. At the height of pass-the-parcel, you create a distraction.” “What sort of distraction?” “You’re inventive.” “That’s a dangerous sentence.” “Something small. Spilled punch. Minor argument over whose child bit whom. A rumor that the pony is loose.” “There is no pony.” “There could be panic anyway. Parents are very suggestible.” Molly drummed her fingers. “While I unleash social collapse, you do what?” “I swap the presents into the box, seal it, and walk out through the kitchen.” “With dozens of gifts in under a minute?” Bill smiled. “This is why I brought diagrams.” From his coat he produced folded sheets covered in arrows and little square parcels. “Oh, marvelous,” Molly said. “Nothing says healthy life choices like diagrams.” “Observe. Tablecloth to be gathered from these corners, presents bundled like a sack, loaded wholesale. Elegant. Swift. Slightly festive.” Molly stared. “You’re proposing to burrito the loot.” “I am proposing efficiency.” “And if someone notices the present mountain suddenly developing legs?” “They won’t. They’ll be watching you.” “Which means my distraction must be spectacular.” Bill spread his hands. “I have faith.” “In my talent or in the fragility of suburban parents?” “Both.” Molly considered, then smiled slowly. “All right. I’ll go in as a face painter.” Bill blinked. “Can you face paint?” “No. But neither can half of them. I do one tiger, one butterfly, and then announce a glitter emergency.” “That’s your distraction?” “No, that’s my access. Once I’m near the children, I whisper that the magician is giving secret extra prizes outside to whoever queues quietly.” Bill’s mouth fell open. “That’s monstrous.” “It’s effective. The children stampede out, the adults follow, and the hall empties.” Bill nodded, impressed despite himself. “Molly, that is appalling.” “Thank you.” “And during the confusion—” “We burrito the loot,” she said. He raised his teacup. “To bunting-assisted larceny.” She clinked it with hers. “To Arlo, whose birthday will teach his family a valuable lesson about unsecured assets.” Bill grinned. “Do we leave a card?” Molly stood, pocketing the invitation. “Absolutely. ‘Many unhappy returns.’”