Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09529CHNS0SN7BY1CR6590

“Tell me again why we’re robbing a children’s party,” Molly said, peering through the rain-streaked window at the blinking house across the street. Bill adjusted his tie, which was, somehow, already crooked. “Because the hosts are wealthy, the presents are plentiful, and no one suspects two professionals at a unicorn-themed birthday.” “Professionals,” Molly repeated. “You’re wearing loafers with no socks and a hat that says Little Champ.” “It says I’m committed to the bit.” “It says you got them from the party supply store in a panic.” Bill leaned closer to the glass. “Observe. Inflatable clown arch. Balloon moat. Parents distracted by cake. Children too sugar-deranged to count inventory. It’s practically a vault.” “It’s a nursery school and a backyard.” “A tactical nursery school and a backyard.” Molly folded her arms. “And your plan is what, exactly?” “We enter as entertainers.” “You?” “Yes.” “With your face?” “My face is a neutral face.” “Your face looks like a man who owes someone money and lost the map.” Bill pointed at her. “That’s why we’re a team. You’re the charming one.” “I’m the one with the crowbar.” “Charming with a crowbar.” Molly sighed. “I still hate that this is morally ambiguous.” “It’s not morally ambiguous. It’s socially repositioned gifting.” “That is not a thing.” “It will be once the presents are in our van.” Molly glanced at the van parked under a streetlamp. “The van with the fake florist logo?” “The same.” “The one that says Daisy Daydreams but smells like old jumper cables?” “That smell is called character.” “What’s the actual route?” Bill spread a crumpled napkin on the dashboard. “We come in through the side gate, past the bouncy castle, bypass the parents’ table, and head straight for the gift pile near the kitchen door.” “Bypass the bouncy castle?” Molly said. “You make it sound easy.” “It is easy. The children will be inside doing a conga line. The adults will be outside pretending the clowns aren’t making eye contact.” “What if the clown makes eye contact with me?” “Don’t engage. Clowns can smell fear and unresolved tax issues.” Molly rubbed her forehead. “And how many presents are we talking?” Bill’s eyes gleamed. “At least thirty. Maybe thirty-five if the aunties have gone sentimental.” “And then?” “And then we load them into the van, drive two blocks, and unload them into the storage unit.” “You rented a storage unit for this?” Bill looked offended. “Molly, please. I’m not an amateur. I rented two.” “Why two?” “In case one gets suspicious.” Molly stared at him. “You are unbelievable.” “And yet, here you are.” She laughed despite herself. “Fine. But if we get caught stealing from a six-year-old’s birthday, I’m telling everyone you insisted it was a heist with a theme.” “It is a theme.” “It’s a crime.” “It’s both.” Molly cracked her knuckles. “No stealing from the kids’ own toys, no touching anything with frosting on it, and if there’s a magician, you handle him.” Bill paled. “Why me?” “Because you’re the one who said ‘professionals.’” He straightened his hat. “Fair. We take only the wrapped gifts, no exceptions.” “And if there’s a giant present?” “We take the giant present.” “If there’s one marked ‘fragile’?” “We take it gently.” “If there’s a note that says ‘To my best friend’?” Bill considered. “Molly, we are thieves, not monsters.” “Good. One last thing.” “Name it.” She held up a finger. “If anyone asks what we’re doing, we are not stealing.” Bill frowned. “Then what are we doing?” Molly smiled, all teeth and trouble. “We’re conducting an emergency redistribution of holiday optimism.” Bill blinked, then grinned. “That is terrible.” “It’s perfect.” Outside, the music from the party swelled, followed by a burst of children shrieking with delight. Bill grabbed the gift bags. “All right then. Time to ruin a birthday beautifully.” Molly opened the van door. “After you, Little Champ.”