Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09AW9WVYG1R057898F00VW

“Tell me again why we’re crouched behind a balloon arch?” Molly whispered. “Because,” Bill whispered back, “the balloon arch is festive and therefore suspicious.” “Suspicious?” “Nothing with that many primary colors is innocent, Molly.” A child’s laugh erupted nearby, followed by the papery shriek of wrapping paper. Molly peeked around the corner of the community center hall, where streamers drooped from the ceiling and a banner read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRAVE CAPTAIN LUCAS. “Brave Captain?” she said. “He’s six.” “Exactly,” Bill said. “At that age, all captains are brave. They haven’t learned fear, bankruptcy, or tax law.” Molly adjusted her black gloves. “Focus. We’re here for the presents.” “Right. The mountain of presents.” “Not a mountain. More like a highly vulnerable festive mound.” Bill nodded gravely. “A mound we shall despoil.” Molly stared at him. “You make it sound romantic.” “I’m trying to build morale.” “What you’re building is a case file.” “Then let’s keep our voices down and our reputations higher than the cake table.” Molly leaned closer. “How many gifts?” Bill squinted through the crowd of parents, face paint, and party hats. “I count twenty-seven.” “Twenty-seven?” “Maybe twenty-eight. One of them is behind the piñata.” “Of course it is.” “And the giant teddy bear is technically a gift, though if we steal that we’ll look monstrous.” “We are stealing from children, Bill. Monstrous is the job description.” He winced. “When you say it like that, I sound worse.” “You are worse.” “You wound me.” “You brought a grappling hook to a birthday party.” “It’s versatile.” “It’s visible.” “It’s confidence-building.” “It’s ridiculous.” Bill straightened his tie, which was a fake bow tie stitched onto a dark hoodie. “Look, the plan is elegant. We mingle. We compliment the clown. We identify the gift table. We wait for the cake. During the frosting frenzy, we strike.” Molly frowned. “You really think the frosting frenzy is a thing?” “Every party has one. Children get sugar, adults get distracted, and somewhere in the chaos, a gift goes missing.” “One gift?” Bill looked offended. “We’re professionals, Molly. We take them all.” A shrill squeal rang out as a little boy in a pirate hat tore into a package and produced a glittering robot. Everyone applauded. Molly watched the applause. “It’s harder when they’re happy.” Bill gave her a look. “You’re saying that now? After the community-center fundraiser, the candle shop, and that unfortunate artisanal jam festival?” “The jam festival was your idea.” “I said we should steal the donations jar, not the jam.” “You licked the raspberry label.” “Betrayal tastes different when you’re hungry.” Molly exhaled slowly. “We grab the gifts, we vanish, and we do not, under any circumstances, make eye contact with the children.” “Agreed.” “And if one of them cries?” Bill shrugged. “We are not in the crying business.” “That’s cold.” “It’s efficient.” A woman at the door called, “All right, everyone, time for the present parade!” Bill’s eyes widened. “Present parade?” Molly hissed, “Why does every innocuous phrase in this room sound like a trap?” “Because it is a trap,” Bill said, standing. “A cheerful one.” She rose beside him. “You have the bag?” He patted the oversized gift sack slung over his shoulder. “Naturally.” “That sack says BOOTS FOR GRANDPA.” “It’s called cover.” “It’s tacky.” “It’s convincing.” A trumpet blast sounded from the cake table. Children whooped. Parents lifted phones. The clown slipped on a discarded balloon and somehow made it look intentional. Bill grinned. “There it is. The frenzy.” Molly drew a breath. “On three.” “Wait,” Bill said, watching a toddler wobble toward the gift pile with arms outstretched. “That one’s going to reach the presents first.” “So?” “So I’m feeling something.” “Don’t.” “No, not guilt. Opportunity.” Molly stared at him. “Explain.” “If we steal the presents before the toddler gets there, we’re villains.” “Yes.” “If we let the toddler touch the presents, we’re thieves with an adorable alibi.” Molly blinked. “That is the worst thing you’ve ever said.” “And yet,” Bill said, already walking, “I’m saying it with perfect timing.” “Bill.” “Trust me.” She followed, muttering, “I’m going to regret this.” Bill flashed her a grin. “That’s the spirit. Now smile. We’re about to ruin a birthday.”