Run: 2026-03-18-01KM090BA5D3Z776ZD3WBX8JQK

Molly flattened a counterfeit mustache over her lip and stared at the balloon-covered townhouse across the street. The children’s party was already in full squeal, a bright kettle of sugar and chaos waiting to be lifted. On the pavement beside her, Bill adjusted a Santa sack sewn from a supermarket curtain and looked like a man about to smuggle an entire holiday. “You sure about this?” he whispered. Molly grinned. “We are professionals.” Inside the house, a clown in a glitter vest was twisting a dog into a balloon poodle while parents applauded with the exhausted gratitude of hostages. The gift table stood in the hallway, guarded only by a vase of suspicious daisies and a stack of napkins shaped like crowns. Molly checked her watch, then the weather, then the dignity of the neighborhood, which was already beyond saving. Bill peered through the gate. “How many presents?” “All of them,” she said. “That’s the beauty of ambition.” A gust of music leaked through the open window: a kazoo version of “Happy Birthday.” Molly slipped on white gloves. Bill nodded, solemn as a priest at a very small funeral. Together they strolled up the path, smiling like relatives with excellent intentions and no morals at all.