Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1J1FSVHH0B56GDZ8PM5Q7D

“Tell me again,” said Molly, peering over the hedge with the gravity of a field marshal, “why we are robbing a seven-year-old’s birthday party.” “Because,” said Bill, adjusting the brim of a hat he seemed to have stolen from a melancholy scarecrow, “children’s parties are chaos wrapped in bunting. No one notices two extra adults if one carries a clipboard and the other looks disappointed.” “I can look disappointed for free,” Molly said. “It’s one of my gifts.” “Excellent. Then we’re halfway equipped.” She squinted at the garden beyond. Balloons bobbed along the fence. A pirate ship bouncy castle lurched with the sort of nautical misery usually reserved for real voyages. “You do understand,” she said, “that this is morally dubious.” Bill nodded solemnly. “That’s why I wore the dark tie.” “I’m serious.” “So am I. This is my ethical tie.” Molly folded her arms. “What exactly are we stealing?” “All the presents.” “All?” “If we leave one, they’ll think it’s an oversight. If we take all, they’ll think it’s a system.” “That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.” Bill considered. “Top five, certainly.” From the garden came a shriek of childish joy, followed by the wet thump of something unfortunate hitting a paddling pool. Molly sighed. “Walk me through it.” “With pleasure. We enter at two fifteen, during the magician.” “There’s a magician?” “There’s always a magician. If there isn’t, I become nervous about property values.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Go on.” “The magician creates misdirection. While everyone watches a rabbit develop performance anxiety, you drift to the gift table.” “And do what? Drift the presents into my pockets? I’m good, Bill, but I’m not an octopus.” “That,” Bill said, producing a clipboard with theatrical modesty, “is where administration comes in.” “You’re not seriously planning to defeat parenthood with stationery.” “I’ve done it before. I walk up and say, ‘Quick inventory check from Party Logistics.’ No one questions a clipboard. It’s the laminated confidence of the working world.” “It isn’t laminated.” “I’m between laminations.” Molly stared at the clipboard. “Party Logistics?” “Official-sounding, isn’t it?” “It sounds like a company that loses marquees.” “Exactly. Respectable incompetence. The backbone of Britain.” A woman in a paper crown crossed the lawn carrying a tray of orange squash like a battlefield nurse. Molly lowered her voice. “And once I’m at the gift table?” “You read names aloud. I tick boxes. We frown. Then I say, ‘These need to be moved indoors for insurance reasons.’” “Insurance reasons?” “Never specify. People fear detail.” She barked a laugh despite herself. “And then we just carry off thirty presents while parents smile?” “Not smile. Hover uncertainly. The English don’t interrupt a process.” “The party’s in Kent.” “Then they’ll apologize to us while we do it.” Molly looked back through the hedge. “There are dogs.” “Yes,” Bill said darkly. “A tactical wrinkle.” “One dog is wearing a bow tie.” “Never trust a dressed animal. It has ambition.” She nudged him. “Suppose a child asks who we are.” “We tell the truth.” “That we’re thieves?” “That we’re adults handling gifts. To a child, that’s much the same thing.” Molly snorted. “I hate that you’re persuasive.” “You adore it.” “I tolerate it in exchange for results.” He straightened. “Then behold the final stroke. Once the presents are in the van, we leave behind a decoy.” “A decoy?” Bill reached into his coat and revealed a single box wrapped in glitter paper. “A family board game from a charity shop. Missing pieces, but emotionally complete.” “You maniac.” “A professional.” She watched a clown pedal crookedly past the gate and muttered, “I cannot believe this might work.” Bill offered her the clipboard. “Darling, at a children’s party, anything works for seven minutes.” Molly took it, inhaled, and set her jaw. “Fine. We go in, we become Party Logistics, we rescue the presents from insurance, and if anyone stops us—” “We look offended,” said Bill. “I can do that for free too.” “Then,” Bill said, as they slipped through the gate with all the confidence of minor officials and all the scruples of decorative fencing, “today is already profitable.”