Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9Q7875WC0Y78C71XRC0WPF

Rain slicked the windows of the borrowed hatchback, turning the streetlights into buttery smears. Across the road, Number Seventeen glowed with the terrifying cheerfulness of a house preparing for a six-year-old’s birthday: balloons in the hedge, a cardboard dragon on the gate, and the distant thump of a song involving clapping. Molly sat behind the wheel in a yellow raincoat that made her look like a criminal banana. Bill had brought binoculars, a notebook, and the solemn air of a man scouting Fort Knox instead of a semi-detached with a bouncy castle. “Right,” said Molly, tapping the steering wheel. “We go in as entertainers, locate the gift table, smile at the adults, seize the loot, and vanish before anyone asks you to make a balloon giraffe.” Bill lowered the binoculars. “I object to the phrase entertainers. My face does not entertain children. It warns them.” “It warns me, and I’ve known you for years.” “I’m serious, Mol. Last time I smiled at a toddler, he cried and bit a sofa.” “That’s why you’re the magician’s gloomy assistant.” Bill squinted at the house again. “What if there’s a dog?” “Then we improvise.” “I hate improvise. Improvising is how I once spent three hours in a duck pond pretending to be topiary.” Molly produced a folded flyer. “I’ve solved that. According to this, the party theme is dragons and treasure. We fit perfectly. We’re taking the treasure. Honestly, we’re practically committed to the bit.” Bill read the flyer and sighed. “There’s face painting.” “There’s always face painting. Society’s hanging by a thread.” Inside the car, the air smelled of damp wool and mint humbugs. Molly checked the canvas bag at her feet. It contained two party hats, a magician’s cape purchased from a joke shop in Croydon, and a length of rope she insisted was for “theatrics,” though Bill suspected theatrics rarely came in twelve metres. “Listen,” Bill said, “children are quick. Sharp little detectives with sticky hands. One asks a difficult question and the whole operation collapses.” Molly turned to him. “Bill, a difficult question once defeated you because you’d forgotten your own fake surname.” “It was a stressful evening. And nobody expects to be challenged by a vicar.” She grinned. “Tonight’s easier. We arrive late, when the cake appears and parental vigilance drops by forty percent. You distract them with a card trick. I drift to the presents.” “With what card trick?” “The one where you throw the deck on the floor and declare the selected card emotionally unavailable.” Bill stared. “That is not a trick.” “It is if you commit.” From Number Seventeen came a shriek of delighted chaos, followed by a chorus of tiny feet hammering through the hall. Bill shivered. “Remind me,” he said, “why we’re stealing children’s presents. Even for us, this feels morally decorated.” “Because,” Molly said, counting on her fingers, “one, presents are portable. Two, adults buy absurdly expensive toys because guilt is the true engine of capitalism. Three, we are behind on rent. Four, I have a buyer who collects limited-edition nonsense.” Bill rubbed his chin. “Couldn’t we rob a jeweller like normal degenerates?” “Jewellers have alarms. Children have cupcakes.” “And adults.” “Cupcakes, Bill. Stay focused.” She started the engine, then killed it again as a clown car drew up outside the house. “Oh no,” Bill whispered. “Professionals.” Out climbed a man in a polka-dot suit carrying a unicycle and looking exhausted in a way Bill instantly respected. Molly watched him trudge toward the gate. Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “New plan,” she said. “I’m frightened already.” “We don’t go in as entertainers.” Bill followed her gaze to the clown. “Molly.” “We go in as the backup entertainers.” “That’s worse.” “Not if,” she said, reaching for the rope and the party hats, “the first entertainer has a sudden, non-fatal scheduling issue.” Bill swallowed. “You know, when we met, I thought you’d lead me to romance.” “And instead?” “Felony in primary colours.” Molly opened her door. “Come on, Bill. Let’s go make some memories disappear.”