Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HNKNH74T98ZR4P8K4GYNF

Molly and Bill crouched behind the hedge of Number Twelve, a hedge so aggressively trimmed it looked as if it had military aspirations. Beyond it, the back garden blazed with bunting, balloons, and the shrill cheerfulness of a dozen children who had not yet learned disappointment. A magician in a purple waistcoat was pulling handkerchiefs from his sleeve with the despairing air of a man trying to retrieve his own dignity. On the patio stood the gift table. It was magnificent. Boxes in shiny paper rose in a wobbling mountain beside a pink cake shaped like a unicorn suffering from hay fever. Curly ribbons twitched in the breeze like little beckoning fingers. Molly adjusted her cap and peered through the leaves with the solemnity of an astronomer discovering a greedy new planet. “Tell me again,” Bill whispered, “why we’re robbing a birthday party and not, say, a bank?” “Because banks have guards,” Molly said. “This has a clown and a woman dressed as a princess who’s smoking behind the shed.” Bill followed her gaze. “Fair.” A child screamed with delight as the magician produced a rubber chicken from someone’s ear. The adults applauded with the glazed expressions of hostages instructed to appear relaxed. Molly unrolled a hand-drawn map on her knee. It was on the back of a pizza leaflet and smelled faintly of anchovies. “The objective,” she murmured, tapping the page, “is the present pile. Entry point: side gate. Obstacle one: bouncy castle. Obstacle two: Labrador in a bow tie. Obstacle three: attentive grandmother.” Bill frowned. “The dog I can handle. Grandmothers are unpredictable.” “Exactly why I’ve assigned you distraction.” He looked wounded. “Why do I always get distraction?” “Because you have the face of a man to whom unfortunate things naturally happen. People gather.” From the lawn came a burst of music and the thump of tiny feet. A game had begun. Children ran in circles around a row of chairs with the ruthless intensity of stockbrokers. Bill watched them, impressed. “No honor among the under-fives.” “Keep focused,” Molly said. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and surveyed the battlefield. “When the cake arrives, all eyes will go to the candles. You limp in from the side gate, clutch your chest, and mutter something alarming about wasps.” “Wasps?” “People can’t resist communal panic. While they’re herding the children and arguing over antihistamines, I sweep the presents into the laundry basket by the fence.” Bill nodded slowly. “And if someone asks who I am?” “Say you’re from entertainment.” “That explains surprisingly much.” The Labrador trotted into view wearing a satin bow tie and the expression of a minor aristocrat. Bill sighed. “He knows. Look at him. That dog knows.” “He’s a Labrador, Bill, not a detective.” The dog sat down and stared straight through the hedge, disappointed already. From the patio, a woman’s voice rang out, “Five minutes till cake!” The children responded as if informed of rescue ships. Molly’s eyes lit up. “This is it.” Bill swallowed. “Right. One question.” “What?” “What if there are books in the presents?” She turned to him. “Then we fence them to clever people.” “And if they’re educational toys?” “We take the batteries and leave the shame behind.” Bill grinned despite himself. “You really have thought of everything.” “No,” said Molly, folding the map. “Just the important parts.” She rose into a crouch, poised like a cat with criminal intent. Bill straightened his jacket, took a deep breath, and prepared to become a public emergency. In the garden, the magician bowed, the clown tripped over a hose, and the grandmother near the gate narrowed her eyes, as if she could smell nonsense on the wind. Molly smiled. At last, she was working with professionals.