Run: 2026-03-09-01KKAC1GD1CJP84GDPFHPQ40P7

“Bill, this is our classiest job yet.” “Robbing a clown-themed birthday party is classy?” “Compared with the ferret smuggling, absolutely.” “I still have bite marks shaped like Wales.” “Focus. Seven o’clock, the magician arrives. Seven-oh-five, every child stares at the rabbit. We slip through the patio doors, sweep the gift table, and vanish.” “With thirty brightly wrapped boxes and a plastic pony?” “The pony is optional. The box with the gold ribbon is not. Rich parents always use gold ribbon.” “Or they’re tasteless.” “Tasteless people buy expensive toys. We respect that.” Bill adjusted his tiny paper hat. “Why are we disguised as uncles?” “Because no one questions an uncle wearing regret and barbecue sauce.” “I’m not wearing regret. I’m wearing suspicion.” “Good. Suspicion looks natural on you.” “And what’s your role?” “I’m Auntie Molly from Croydon. I kiss cheeks, misname children, and complain about parking.” “That is disturbingly convincing.” From beyond the hedge came shrieking and a burst of party music. “That’s our cue,” Molly whispered. “One concern.” “You only get one.” “What if the children notice the presents moving away?” “Then smile and say, ‘The birthday boy requested a surprise redistribution.’” “That’s terrible.” “It’s confident. Confidence is nine-tenths of crime.” “And the other tenth?” “Balloon animals. Now straighten your hat, Uncle Bill. We’re going in.”