Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0ARGK69PKXQH6Z3XA67VW3

“Tell me again why the children’s party is the easiest job in town,” Molly whispered, peering through the alley window at the burst of balloons inside. “Because,” Bill said, tugging his gloves tighter, “everyone assumes the idiot with the cake is harmless.” “You are the idiot with the cake?” “I am tonight,” Bill said. “A baker, technically.” “You look like a man who lost a fight with a flour bin.” “That is called commitment. Besides, the disguise is excellent.” Molly squinted at him. “You’ve got a fake mustache made of frosting.” “It’s artisanal.” “It’s melting.” “So are my standards.” Inside the hall, someone shrieked with delight. A clown’s trumpet wheezed. Molly adjusted the strap of her satchel. “All right. We slip in, mingle, locate the gift table, and leave before anyone notices the presents are gone.” Bill nodded. “Clean, quiet, elegant.” “Why are you holding a toy sword?” Bill looked down. “It was in the costume bin.” “You’re a baker.” “I’m a festive baker.” “Why is there a toy sword in the cake box?” “I didn’t ask questions when the box said, ‘For special occasions.’” Molly rubbed her temple. “Focus. The plan.” “The plan,” Bill repeated, very solemnly, “is to exploit the fact that children cannot count.” “That’s not the plan.” “It is if they’re opening presents. One child gets distracted, another starts crying, adults begin negotiating with frosting, and then we take the lot.” “The lot,” Molly said, “being every single present in the room.” “Every single present,” Bill confirmed. “A mountain of wrapped joy. We’ll be rich.” “We’ll be chased.” “Semantics.” Molly leaned closer to the window. “There’s a table by the stage. I can see pirate paper, unicorn paper, and one box the size of a coffin.” “Probably a train set.” “Or a tiny horse.” “Even better. Horses are expensive.” From inside came the sound of a host calling, “Who wants cake?” followed by a roar of tiny voices. Bill brightened. “That’s our cue.” “That’s dessert.” “Yes, but dessert is what lures the adults away from the gifts.” “You’ve done this before.” “I’ve studied party behavior.” “While in prison?” “Especially while in prison.” Molly opened the back door a fraction. Warm air, sugar, and chaos spilled out. “Remember, we are invisible. We are caterers.” Bill glanced at her apron. “You’re wearing a black ski mask.” “Caterers wear whatever they want.” “That is not true.” “It is for this company.” He straightened the fake frosting mustache with one finger. “What’s our cover story if someone asks?” Molly gave him a flat look. “You are a man of mystery. I am your assistant. We have lost the dessert cart.” “What dessert cart?” “The one we just invented. Keep up.” A little voice from inside piped up, “Excuse me, are you the dessert cart people?” Molly froze. Bill froze harder. Through the crack in the door, a small girl in a princess cape stared up at them with suspiciously calm eyes. Bill smiled. “Yes?” The girl pointed at his cake box. “Is that for us?” Molly whispered, “Bill.” Bill whispered back, “I’m thinking.” The girl’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking very fast.” Molly forced a laugh. “Children’s parties, eh? They keep you on your toes.” The girl crossed her arms. “Are you stealing the presents?” Bill said, “Absolutely not.” Molly said, “Absolutely maybe.” Bill hissed, “Molly.” “What? Honesty builds trust.” “With children?” “Especially children. They’re ruthless.” The girl nodded. “I knew it. My brother said thieves look weird.” Bill put a hand on his chest. “We do not look weird.” Molly glanced at his mustache. “Speak for yourself.” The girl backed away, then turned and shouted, “MUM! THE CAKE PEOPLE ARE THIEVES!” Bill grabbed Molly’s wrist. “Time to improvise.” Molly snatched the toy sword. “At last.” “Why are you smiling?” “Because,” she said, already moving through the door, “we are about to make a very noisy exit.” Behind them, the hall erupted in screams, laughter, and the patter of dozens of little feet. Bill followed her toward the gift table. “Molly,” he said, “on three?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because,” she said, scooping up a stack of presents, “I’m already on one.”