Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08WMDSVZM738D8KW81X2YK

Molly crouched behind the bakery truck, peering through the rain-streaked window at the brightly lit community hall. Balloons pressed against the glass like cheerful little spies. Inside, a banner read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TILLY! in glittering pink letters, and from somewhere beyond it came the shriek of a kazoo and the delighted roar of children. Bill adjusted the collar of his too-small black jacket. “You’re sure this is a good idea?” “It’s a terrible idea,” Molly said. “That’s what makes it beautiful.” “I don’t know if beautiful is the word I’d use for stealing presents from a seven-year-old.” “They’re not from a seven-year-old. They’re for a seven-year-old. Big difference.” Bill squinted through the wet glass. “How many presents are we talking about?” “Enough to make a clean getaway worth it.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s a range.” He sighed. “I hate when you say ‘range.’ It always means more boxes than the last time.” Molly smiled, checking the straps of her duffel bag. “Relax. We go in with the delivery crew, blend with the chaos, and leave with the goods before anyone notices.” Bill looked at the clown parking beside the entrance. “You say ‘blend’ like there’s a chance of that happening.” “There’s always a chance. What’s wrong with your confidence tonight?” “My confidence is fine. My nerves are doing the talking.” “Then tell your nerves to whisper.” A gust of wind rattled the truck door. Bill flinched. “And if someone asks who we are?” “We’re here to collect the extra party supplies.” “From a party that is actively happening?” “Yes.” “That sounds suspicious.” “It sounds official if you say it quickly.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “I still think taking presents from children is low.” Molly gave him a look. “We’re not taking from children. We’re taking from a pile of wrapping paper and hopeful relatives.” “Hopeful relatives?” “Parents. Grandparents. The aunt who definitely brought the giant stuffed giraffe to show off.” Bill peered back inside. “There is, in fact, a giant stuffed giraffe.” “See? You’re already learning.” “Learning to feel guilty, maybe.” Molly nudged him with an elbow. “Bill, focus. The hall is packed. The adults are distracted, the kids are sugar-powered, and the presents are stacked near the stage. We only need ten minutes.” “Ten minutes is how long it takes children to form a mob.” “Then we don’t get caught by the mob.” “That’s your strategy?” “It’s a strong strategy.” He looked at her. “You ever have a plan that didn’t sound like it was written by a raccoon?” “Only the successful ones.” Bill snorted despite himself, then glanced toward the side door where a paper sign announced PRESENT DROP-OFFS THIS WAY. “Fine. We go in, we grab the presents, and we leave before the birthday song ends.” Molly patted the side of her bag. “That’s the spirit.” “And if there’s a piñata?” “We do not acknowledge the piñata.” “What if somebody hands us cake?” “We refuse politely.” “What if the clown recognizes us?” Molly shrugged. “Then we commit to the bit.” Bill stared at her. “What bit?” “The one where we’re concerned relatives retrieving donations for a literacy program.” “You made that up on the spot.” “I’m very talented.” He took a breath and straightened his jacket. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather be in a bank.” “Banks have lasers and security guards.” “This party has a balloon arch shaped like a unicorn.” “Exactly. Far more dangerous.” From inside came the sound of children chanting, “Open it! Open it! Open it!” followed by an adult voice saying, “One at a time, sweetheart.” Bill winced. “That’s going to make this harder.” Molly grinned and held out her hand. “Come on, partner. Let’s relieve these people of their burdens.” Bill took her hand, then immediately regretted the phrase. “You really need better wording.” “Later. Now we move.” They slipped from the truck and headed for the side entrance, rain tapping softly on the presents waiting inside, each wrapped box bright with ribbons and trust, while Molly whispered, “Remember, cheerful faces.” Bill forced a grin. “Mine always looks like a man planning a felony.” “Perfect,” Molly said. “You fit right in.”