Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07TGH06FDJBT42C4V7ZS7Z

“Bill, you’re walking like a man with a secret,” Molly said, tugging him behind the hedge. “I am a man with a secret,” Bill whispered. “Two secrets, actually. One, the party is in that house. Two, I’m standing in a bush and I hate it.” “Stop whining. We’re professionals.” “We’re in matching black turtlenecks and borrowed bicycle helmets.” “Exactly. It says ‘professional’ in a playful way.” Bill peered through the hedge at the bright house next door, where a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SUNSHINE! hung over the porch. “There are balloons.” “Yes, Bill. It’s a children’s party.” “I know it’s a children’s party. I’m saying there are balloons. Balloons are suspicious.” “Everything is suspicious to you.” “I was suspicious of a clown once. Turned out to be a very normal accountant, but still.” Molly adjusted the tiny flashlight clipped to her collar. “Listen carefully. According to my research, the presents are stacked in the sunroom.” “Your research?” “I asked the caterer.” “You asked the caterer?” “In a vague way. She thought I was a cousin.” Bill blinked. “You’re not a cousin of anyone.” “I have the face of someone who could be related to anyone.” “That’s not a skill.” “It got us free lemonade.” Bill looked back at the house. “How many children are inside?” “Enough to make our lives difficult.” “That’s not a number.” “It is if you’re sensible.” Bill folded his arms. “I’m not comfortable stealing gifts from children.” Molly stared at him. “Bill.” “What?” “We are not stealing from children. We are reassigning assets.” “That’s stealing with paperwork.” “No, it’s art.” “You call everything art if it has a getaway involved.” “Because it does.” Bill sighed. “Why did the client want children’s presents anyway?” Molly lowered her voice. “Because the client is the sort of fellow who collects novelty spoons and has enemies in every postcode.” “That’s not a reason.” “It’s a motivation. Different thing.” A burst of laughter floated from the open windows. Molly crouched lower. “Keep your head down. The host’s mother is doing that thing where adults clap too hard at nonsense.” Bill squinted. “What nonsense?” “I don’t know. Probably a cake shaped like a duck.” “I would like a duck cake.” “We are not here for the duck cake.” “I know. But I’m saying if one were accidentally available, I would not object.” Molly nudged him. “Focus. At 3:15, the magician distracts the front room with a rabbit.” “A rabbit?” “Allegedly.” “A rabbit is not a distraction. A rabbit is a rabbit.” “Bill, children are the easiest audience in the world.” “They’re also loud.” “Which is why we use the noise. While everyone crowds around the magician, we slip into the sunroom, collect the gifts, and exit through the side gate.” “Collect the gifts.” “Yes.” “Not ‘snatch the loot.’ Not ‘nab the treasure.’” “Those phrases attract bad energy.” Bill looked at her. “You’re superstitious about theft now?” “I’m professional about theft. There’s a difference.” He rubbed his hands together. “What if a child sees us?” Molly smiled. “Then we say we’re the present inspectors.” “That is terrible.” “That’s why it works.” Bill nodded reluctantly. “And if they ask for identification?” “I have a laminated badge.” “You do not.” “I do now. I made one this morning.” “How?” “Office supplies and arrogance.” Bill leaned closer. “Molly.” “Yes?” “Are we absolutely sure this is the right house?” Molly checked the numbers on the mailbox, then the banner, then the row of toy cars on the lawn. “Bill, if there were a more obvious house for children’s presents, I’d like to see it.” He exhaled. “All right. Fine. We’ll do it your way.” “Wonderful.” “One question.” “Only one?” “Why is there a goat in the backyard?” Molly frowned. “That,” she said, “was not on the briefing.” From inside the house came a shout, then a cheer, then the unmistakable sound of wrapping paper tearing. Bill stared. “Should we be worried?” Molly grinned, already moving toward the side gate. “No, Bill.” “Why not?” “Because if the children are opening presents now, it means the magician is late.” Bill followed, whispering, “That’s your plan?” Molly glanced over her shoulder. “My plan, Bill, is to be faster than a confused goat.”