Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9QJB02NQRANSNJTAV5C9GP

Molly crouched behind the hedge in a red cardigan so aggressively festive it looked criminal on its own. Bill lay beside her with a pair of toy binoculars he’d bought from a petrol station. “Tell me again,” Molly whispered, “why are we staking out a six-year-old’s birthday party like it’s Fort Knox?” “Because,” Bill said, peering through the plastic lenses, “children are the only people in this city who still receive gifts in bulk. Adults get scented candles and disappointment.” “That’s not reconnaissance, Bill. That’s sociology.” “Look at the haul. Two bikes, a mountain of wrapped boxes, and what I strongly suspect is a remote-control dinosaur.” “You always get greedy around electronics.” “I don’t get greedy. I get visionary.” Molly adjusted her cardigan. “We need a proper entry plan. We can’t just hop the fence and start stuffing teddy bears into a sack.” “Why not? It worked at that christening.” “We were nearly beaten to death by a grandmother with a folding chair.” “She had military training in her eyes.” From the garden came a shriek of laughter, followed by the distant thump of children stampeding over grass. Bill frowned. “Security’s tighter than I expected.” “They’re six, Bill.” “Exactly. Unpredictable. Low center of gravity. Sticky hands. No respect for rank.” Molly risked a glance through the hedge. The garden was chaos: balloons tied to chairs, a bouncy castle wobbling like a jelly in an earthquake, a pirate in a polyester coat making balloon swords. “The entertainer,” Molly muttered. “He’s the weak point.” Bill brightened. “You’re thinking disguise.” “I’m thinking misdirection. If we can get the pirate away from the children for five minutes, the gift table is ours.” “I could become the pirate.” “You could barely become a man in a necktie.” Bill ignored that. “I do voices.” “You do one voice, Bill. Nervous landlord.” He cleared his throat. “Ahoy, me hearties, rent is due on the first.” Molly closed her eyes. “You see?” “All right, then what? You go in as what?” She considered the party. “Face painter.” Bill blinked. “Can you paint faces?” “I can paint a decent tiger if the child keeps still and doesn’t ask what species it is.” “What about me?” “You carry supplies.” “My criminal career has been building to becoming an assistant at a unicorn station.” “Better than your pirate accent.” A little boy in a paper crown ran to the fence, stared directly at Bill through the leaves, and then ran off again. Bill went pale. “He saw me.” “He’s six. Everything looks suspicious to him. Last week one of them called a pigeon ‘an undercover chicken.’ Focus.” Bill lowered the binoculars. “Timing?” “Cake is served at three. Parents turn sentimental. Cameras come out. Attention shifts. We drift to the present table, load the big gifts first, then the medium, and leave the dolls. Dolls are cursed.” “You really believe that?” “I don’t know, but they’re always looking somewhere else than their heads.” Bill shuddered. “Fair.” “And no greed,” Molly added. “One trip to the van. In and out.” “What if there’s a clown?” “There isn’t a clown.” “What if there’s a reserve clown? Good parties have layers.” Molly reached into her bag and produced two paper hats. “We blend. Smile like taxpayers. If questioned, we say we’re from your side of the family.” “My side?” “You have the trustworthy face.” “I absolutely do not.” “You do compared with your personality.” Bill took the hat reluctantly. “I still think I should be pirate-adjacent.” “You are pirate-adjacent. We’re stealing from a child.” He put on the hat. “That does sound on brand.” Molly stood, brushing leaves from her skirt. “Right. We enter through the side gate, compliment the cake, insult no one’s balloon animal, and if anything goes wrong—” “We run?” “We improvise.” “That means run.” “It often does.” From the garden came a woman’s voice: “Has anyone seen the face painter?” Molly grinned slowly. Bill stared at her. “Oh, that’s obscene luck.” She tucked a small paint kit under her arm. “No, Bill. That’s opportunity wearing glitter.” He rose beside her, straightening his jacket. “If I end this day carrying a stolen dinosaur and smelling of buttercream, I want it noted I had doubts.” “Doubts are healthy,” Molly said, pushing open the gate. “Now smile like you adore children.” Bill bared his teeth with the expression of a man being arrested at a picnic, and together they marched toward the presents.