Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09VRDQGEQB8ZE355RD4C5G

“Tell me again why we’re robbing a children’s party,” Bill whispered, peering over the hedge at the suburban house glowing like a sugared-up lantern. “Because,” Molly said, tightening the strap of her satchel, “everybody’s distracted, nobody locks up properly, and the loot is wrapped in cheerful paper instead of alarm systems.” “You make it sound romantic.” “It is romantic. We’re practically giving the little darlings a lesson in loss.” Bill winced. “That sounded much darker than you intended.” “Only if you have a conscience.” “I have one of those.” “Then try thinking of it as redistribution.” “To us?” “To us,” Molly said. “To the underground economy.” “Where exactly is this underground economy?” “In my pocket, if tonight goes well.” Bill looked toward the house again. “I can hear singing.” “That’s because the clown is beginning the chorus. Perfect. Adults focused on a man in face paint, children distracted by sugar, and the presents are probably stacked in the dining room.” “You’ve really mapped this out.” “I did a reconnaissance muffin run this afternoon.” “A muffin run?” “I bought a cupcake from the bakery across the street and spent forty minutes pretending to text while actually observing the front door.” “That is either brilliant or deeply pathetic.” “Why not both?” Bill folded his arms. “I still think there are better targets. Why not a wedding? Or a charity gala? Something with richer people and less sticky fingers.” “Weddings have security,” Molly said. “Charity galas have donors, and donors notice things. At a children’s party, everyone is too busy asking whose turn it is to hit the piñata.” “Which is, admittedly, a spectacular blind spot.” “Exactly.” Bill squinted at the house. “What’s the plan?” “We go in as entertainers.” “Entertainers?” “Bill, look at me. I’m wearing a sequined jacket and I have a ukulele.” “That doesn’t mean you’re an entertainer.” “It means I’m hard to question.” “You once got asked to leave a petting zoo.” “I was blending in.” Bill sighed. “And I’m supposed to be what, exactly?” “The balloon man.” “I hate balloons.” “Perfect. Authenticity.” “I don’t know how to make balloon animals.” “You don’t need to. You just need to hold a coil of balloons and look emotionally unavailable.” “That part I can do.” Molly leaned closer and lowered her voice. “When the clown starts the big song, we drift inside, compliment the birthday cake, and if anyone asks, you say you’re from Mr. Giggles’ Surprise Company.” “Is that a real company?” “Not anymore.” Bill stared at her. “You’re impossible.” “And yet, here you are.” A burst of laughter rose from inside the house, followed by the thump of small feet and a chorus of delighted shrieking. Bill swallowed. “I have to ask the ugly question.” “Ask it.” “What if they’re the sort of presents nobody wants?” Molly blinked. “What do you mean?” “You know. Educational toys. Socks from relatives. Musical books that make the same three notes forever.” Molly considered this, then nodded. “Then we’re not thieves. We’re public servants.” Bill snorted despite himself. “You are the worst person I know.” “And you’re standing at the edge of a robbery with a balloon string in your hand.” “I said I could do authenticity.” “Good. Then smile.” “I hate smiling.” “Wonderful. It’ll make you look like a magician.” Bill took one last look at the warm, noisy house. “If we get caught, I’m telling them this was your idea.” “Bill, if we get caught, I’m telling them you volunteered to be the balloon man.” “That’s low.” “That’s leadership.” He exhaled, then straightened his jacket. “All right. For the record, I think this is morally questionable.” Molly grinned and adjusted her satchel. “For the record, I think tonight’s going to be beautifully profitable.” “And if there are no presents?” “Then we’ll steal the cake.” Bill paused. “You know what?” “What?” “I’m starting to believe in your system.” “That’s the spirit.” Together, they stepped toward the bright front door, where laughter spilled out in waves and a carved cardboard sign welcomed them to the party like a promise. Molly reached for the bell. Bill held the balloons like a man carrying a terrible secret. “Ready?” she whispered. He swallowed. “Absolutely not.” “Excellent,” Molly said. “That’s how you know it’s a proper heist.”