Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ7R0QZZVXRDWB1VH759H4S

Molly crouched in the shrubbery, her night-vision goggles fogging as she peered at the house through a cluster of rhododendrons. Bill, draped in a neon-green inflatable tube meant to blend in with lawn decorations, squirmed beside her. “You’re sure this party starts at six?” he asked, his voice muffled by a foam sword he’d mistaken for a walkie-talkie. “Afraid so,” Molly said, adjusting her watch. “By seven, the parents’ll be too busy sipping punch to notice the gift table’s missing.” Bill unfurled a map of the backyard, which was essentially a scribbled pizza box. “Stage left, we’ve got a bounce house. Stage right, a guy in a dragon costume hawking glitter. Center stage—a piñata.” He poked the word *piñata* with a finger. “I say we hit it while the kids’re distracted. Swab the loot and vanish.” Molly’s eyebrow twitched. “We’re not *swabbing*, Bill. We’re *discreetly redistributing*.” She held up a pair of tongs labeled “for party favors only.” “First, we disable the clown. His cart’s blocking the gift table.” “The clown? Easy. I’ve dealt with clowns. Once, I dressed as a clown to skip work. Lasted three hours before a toddler tried to dye my wigs with crayons.” Molly massaged her temples. “This isn’t a dress-up day, it’s a calculated breach. The clown’s name is Steve. He’s got a propensity for polka dots and pepper spray. Avoid the polka dots. At all costs.” Bill saluted. “Got it. No polka dots. Also, Steve’s a jerk, per the info you stole from the mom’s Facebook.” “*Harassed* the mom’s Facebook,” Molly corrected. “Professional jealousy. She posted photos of her son in a pirate costume I designed last year.” A horn honked. Both thieves froze as a van screeched into the driveway. “That’s our cue,” Molly hissed, yanking a carnation smock over her jumpsuit. Bill, struggling with a unicorn onesie, let out a muffled yelp. “Why do I have to be the unicorn?” “Because you look less like a career criminal with a horn,” Molly said, shoving a fake mustache into his hand. “Now stick to the plan. You’ll pose as part of the ‘Enchanted Menagerie’ crew. When Steve starts blowing up balloons, you ‘accidentally’ knock over his cart.” “And the gifts?” “Grab what you can. I’ll cover the piñata. Meet at the treehouse in ten.” Bill paused, stroking his foam sword. “What if we get caught?” Molly handed him a party horn. “Blow this. It emits a smoke powder that smells like bubblegum. Also, run.” Their eyes locked. Bill saluted again, though half his head was buried in the unicorn tail. “For the cause.” “Don’t let the confetti get in your contacts,” Molly warned as they crept toward the fence, where a string of fairy lights illuminated the word *SURPRISE!* in temporary tattoos. Somewhere inside, a child screamed with glee. Bill mouthed, *I hate kids*, and Molly nearly laughed. Almost. Stealing from children was one thing. But stealing *for* them? Now that was a heist worth smiling about.