Run: 2026-03-09-01KKAC917AKY0DSNBPH324FRDA

Molly spread the crayon-colored floor plan across the wobbly café table as if she were unveiling blueprints for a royal mint. In truth, it was the back of a pizza menu with a bouncy castle drawn on in blue biro and a large X where the presents were stacked. Bill leaned in until his nose nearly touched the paper. He smelled faintly of rain and cheaper rain. “I’m just saying, if there’s a clown, I’m out.” “There’s no clown,” Molly said. “I checked the invitation.” “You checked the invitation because you stole it.” “I borrowed it from a pigeon.” Bill sat back, unconvinced. Outside, the evening pressed itself against the steamed-up windows, and the café’s goldfish watched them with the grave disappointment of a magistrate. Molly tapped the pizza menu with a sugar packet. “Target is the church hall on Daffodil Lane. Three till five. Peak cake at half past three. Present table by the stage, under a banner saying HAPPY EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, OLIVER! Exclamation point included, which I find arrogant.” Bill squinted. “How many presents?” “Twenty-seven visible. Possibly more in reserve.” “Rich child?” “Rich grandparents. Better. Grandparents buy educational presents, Bill. Telescopes. Chemistry sets. One of them looked like a drone.” Bill’s eyes lit with criminal wonder. “A drone.” “A small one. Don’t make that face.” “What face?” “The one where your thoughts become expensive.” He folded his arms. “I still don’t love the setting. Children are unpredictable. Tiny drunks with sticky hands.” Molly took a measured sip of tea she had no intention of paying for. “Which is why we don’t go in as ourselves.” Bill blinked. “We have other options?” “We go in as entertainment.” His expression collapsed in stages. “You said no clown.” “I said there’s no clown. I didn’t say you weren’t one.” He pointed at himself. “Absolutely not. I have dignity.” “You once stole garden furniture dressed as a nun.” “That was tactical dignity.” Molly slid two laminated badges from her coat pocket. One said PARTY CREW. The other said MAGIC MIKE, which she turned face down before Bill could comment. “I’ve arranged costumes. Bright polo shirts, lanyards, plausible smiles. We enter carrying a bubble machine and a rolled-up game mat. Nobody questions a person carrying equipment. That’s science.” Bill picked up the badge. “What if they ask us to do a game?” “Then we do a game.” “With children?” “With children.” “I don’t know any games.” “You know theft.” “There isn’t a game called theft.” “There is if you’re imaginative.” A waitress drifted by and gave their table the suspicious look reserved for people who had ordered one tea and were occupying six chairs with conspiracy. Molly lowered her voice. Bill matched her, though he somehow made whispering sound argumentative. “Listen carefully,” she said. “At three twenty-five, cake emerges. Every adult in the room turns into a photographer. At three twenty-seven, sugar reaches the bloodstream. Every child turns into a weather event. In that confusion, I cut through to the present table, load sacks one and two, and wheel them out disguised as recycling.” Bill stared. “You’ve already named the sacks?” “I have monogrammed them.” “And me?” “You create diversion.” He looked wounded. “I am always diversion.” “You’re excellent at it.” “That’s not a compliment in our line of work.” She smiled despite herself. Bill had the special talent of appearing both offended and available for further nonsense, like a butler in a farce. He drummed his fingers on the table, considering the moral architecture of stealing from children and finding, as usual, that his objections were practical rather than ethical. “What about the birthday boy?” he asked. “If Oliver sees us?” Molly shrugged. “Then we tell him we’re taking the presents to be polished.” “Children don’t believe that.” “They believe in a rabbit that leaves eggs.” Bill frowned at the floor plan. “And if there is a clown?” Molly folded the menu, tucked it into her coat, and stood. “Then, Bill, for the first time in your life, you’ll blend in beautifully.” He rose with a sigh and flipped the PARTY CREW badge onto his chest. “If I’m forced to make balloon animals, I’m adding hazard pay.” “Fine,” said Molly, already heading for the door. “But if you make a sword, don’t hand it to a child. We’re thieves, not anarchists.”