Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09B1DJQQZMBT1R5NJTWG6K

Molly spread the crumpled flyer across the kitchen table like a general unveiling a battle map. The flyer showed balloons, a cartoon dragon, and the words ELLA’S 7TH BIRTHDAY BASH! in letters so cheerful they seemed to hum. Bill peered at it through his little theft glasses, which were just regular glasses with one lens popped out because he thought it made him look mysterious. “So,” he said, tapping the paper, “we’re really doing this?” “We’re really doing this,” Molly said, nodding toward the stack of gift bags, party hats, and a tiny gold envelope labeled RSVP. “That’s a lot of loot for a room full of sugar-crazed children. It’s practically a fortress of wealth.” Bill scratched his chin. “I still think ‘wealth’ is a stretch when the biggest item in there is probably a toy dinosaur with sound effects.” “Expensive dinosaur with sound effects,” Molly said. “Parents pay through the nose for those. Also there’s always one giant present from the grandparents. Last year at Ned’s birthday, there was a bicycle with streamers. A bicycle, Bill.” “A bicycle is not an easy thing to smuggle,” Bill said. “That’s why we’re not smuggling the bicycle. We’re taking the presents, one by one, with elegance.” Bill glanced at the pile of disguises on the counter. “Is elegance the word for a fake clown nose, two janitor uniforms, and a traffic cone?” Molly held up the cone. “This is not a cone. This is a distraction device.” “It’s a traffic cone.” “It is now.” Bill sighed. “Fine. What’s the actual plan?” Molly leaned in, lowering her voice even though the only other witness was a sleepy cat on the radiator. “I enter as the party entertainer. You enter as the venue’s new janitor. We blend in. We observe. We wait until the cake comes out, because children become irrational around frosting. Then, while everyone is chanting at the candles, we move the presents to the back door.” Bill frowned. “How are we supposed to move a mountain of wrapped gifts while children are screaming and parents are taking photos?” “Bill,” Molly said patiently, “that’s why we hired the clown.” “I thought the clown was for your nephew’s graduation.” “The clown has a skill set.” The cat yawned, deeply unconvinced. Bill picked up a fake mustache from the table and examined it. “This thing looks like it was cut from a dust bunny.” “It’s subtle,” Molly said. “It looks allergic to competence.” Molly slapped the flyer once more. “Look, the party starts at two. We get there at one-thirty. You wheel in the snack cart, I distract the kids with my ‘amazing’ balloon animals, and then we claim the presents need to be moved for a game.” “What game?” “The game of ‘Safety.’ Children love safety when you put it in a fun voice.” Bill leaned back. “And if anyone asks why the gifts are disappearing?” Molly grinned. “We say it’s a magic trick.” Bill blinked. “That is a terrible magic trick.” “It’s children’s magic. The standards are low and the applause is immediate.” He considered this, then nodded slowly. “I do like immediate applause.” “Exactly.” A long silence settled between them, filled only by the radiator’s hiss and the cat’s judgment. Bill finally said, “One concern.” “Only one?” “Well, two. First, if the children notice their presents are gone, they may become upset.” “They’ll be emotionally resilient,” Molly said. “And second, what are we stealing them for?” Molly brightened. “Resale.” “In what market?” “The mysterious market.” Bill stared at her. “Fine,” Molly said. “We’re stealing them because we need money for rent, and also because you said you wanted something ‘big and dramatic’ for your next job.” Bill nodded, offended that she was right. “That is true.” “Plus,” Molly added, gathering up the disguises, “it’s not every day you can rob a party and leave with both the goods and a slice of cake.” Bill smiled despite himself. “Do we at least get to keep the cake?” Molly tucked the flyer into her coat. “Bill, if this goes well, we get the cake, the presents, and a reputation.” “Among who?” “The children,” Molly said. “They’ll never forget us.” Bill rose from the table and put on the sad little mustache. “All right, then. Let’s go steal a birthday.” Molly handed him the traffic cone. “Not a birthday.” He took it anyway. “We’re professionals,” she said. The cat sneezed.