Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07TTPVZYJYJ6XX3YEJC88V

The van sat crooked in the alley like a disgruntled shoe, its side panel reading PETER’S PET PARROTS in faded letters from a previous criminal career involving birds and poor decisions. Molly crouched beside the rear door, peering through a crack in the brickwork at the children’s party next door. Balloons bobbed over the garden fence. A clown, unfortunately, was already there, bending himself into a figure that looked suspiciously like a warning. Bill arrived with two paper cups of tea and the expression of a man who had recently discovered both regret and polyester. “Good news,” he said, handing her a cup. “Define good.” “The party is in full swing.” Molly squinted at him. “That’s the bad news, Bill. The good news is supposed to be something like ‘the adults are distracted’ or ‘the dog is asleep.’” Bill sipped his tea. “There is a dog. He’s awake. He hates me.” “Of course he does. You once tried to distract a terrier with a ham sandwich and a legal argument.” “He lost the ham.” Molly turned back to the fence. On the other side, children ran in circles with the kind of joyful velocity that made theft feel almost rude. A banner over the patio read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUCY! in giant glittering letters. “There’s our target,” Molly said. Bill nodded toward the mountain of wrapped gifts stacked beneath the gazebo. “That’s a lot of loot for one small human.” “She’ll survive.” “You say that now.” “She’s five, Bill. At five, every present is either a revelation or a sock. We’re doing her a public service.” Bill frowned. “By taking the presents?” “By redistributing them.” “To where?” Molly gave him a patient look. “Our flat.” “Oh. Right. The charitable bit.” A burst of shrieking rose from the garden. Someone had apparently handed the clown a microphone. Bill winced. “I hate children’s parties,” he said. “You hate all parties.” “I contain multitudes.” Molly checked her watch. “We go in on the piñata.” “The piñata?” “During the confusion. One good swing, sweets everywhere, children descend like tiny, sugar-fueled vultures, and nobody notices two sensible professionals transporting gifts.” Bill considered this. “That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” “It’s also the only plan.” He looked through the fence again. “What if they ask questions?” “About what?” “Why there are two adults carrying forty-seven wrapped boxes toward a van.” Molly smirked. “We’re entertainers. You’re the magician, I’m the assistant.” “I can’t do magic.” “You can do cynicism. Close enough.” Bill straightened his coat. “I’m not wearing the top hat.” “You’re wearing the top hat.” “I look like a disgraced traffic warden.” “Perfect. Children trust authority.” He groaned, but she could see he was already warming to the idea, which was always the danger with Bill. He complained like a man auditioning for sainthood, then committed to nonsense with the enthusiasm of a ferret on espresso. From the garden came a chant of, “Piñata! Piñata! Piñata!” followed by the wet thwack of a plastic bat and a chorus of delighted screams. Molly grinned. “Hear that? The opening act.” Bill set down his tea and reached for the sack. “All right, Molly. If we’re going to ruin a birthday, let’s do it with style.” “That’s the spirit.” “And if this goes wrong?” “It won’t.” “It always does.” She glanced at him, amused. “Bill, we’re thieves. Going wrong is the hobby.” Then the clown’s microphone squealed, the children yelled louder, and from the party came the first cascade of flying sweets. Molly and Bill slipped through the side gate wearing their best criminal confidence, which in Bill’s case looked mildly apologetic and in Molly’s looked like business. The presents waited under the gazebo, bright paper gleaming in the afternoon sun, innocent as sin and twice as tempting.