Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ066089MM2VBKMFPGX6DPMX

Molly adjusted the binoculars, squinting through the drizzle at the sprawling suburban house ablaze with light. “Alright, Bill. Deep breaths. We are not panicking.” Bill was not deep breathing. He was hyperventilating into a paper bag he’d brought for the job. “I am panicking, Molly! Look at it! There are at least thirty kids in there! And a clown! Clowns are unpredictable!” “Every occupation has its hazards. The clown is a variable, not an obstacle. Focus on the objective: the present pile in the bay window. That’s our target.” Molly lowered the binoculars, her expression clinical. “I count roughly forty-two gifts. Mostly rectangular, suggesting books and board games. Standard haul for a children’s birthday.” “But it’s for a *child*, Molly. A child named… what did the invite say?” Bill frantically checked his pocket. “‘Liliana.’ It’s for Liliana. That’s just… that’s just mean.” “It’s business. Liliana has an overabundance of material wealth. We are redistributing. Think of it as a very late, very confusing tax.” She began unfolding a laminated party invitation she’d “borrowed” from a mail slot. “Phase one: infiltration. You’re the distraction.” Bill’s eyes widened. “Why am I always the distraction?” “You have a natural, harmless energy. People don’t suspect you. Go to the door, tell them you’re from the clown agency, that Bobo had a… a pie-related incident. Create a three-minute window of chaos. I’ll slip in the back door, which I’ve already propped open with a wedge of cheese from their picnic table.” “What if someone asks what kind of pie?” “Any pie, Bill! Cream pie! Then act flustered and leave. It’s foolproof.” She handed him a red, squeaky nose. “For authenticity.” Ten minutes later, Molly heard a commotion from the front. Bill’s voice carried, a masterpiece of faux-panic. “The pie! It was a catastrophic canary-in-the-coal-mine situation with the cream filling! He’s okay, but he’s… emotionally unavailable for the remainder of the evening!” Molly slipped through the back door into the cavernous kitchen. The noise from the party was a solid wall of sound—screaming, a chaotic rendition of “Happy Birthday.” She moved like a shadow towards the living room. The present pile was indeed magnificent, a glittering mountain of wrapping paper. She had her arms around three large boxes when a small voice said, “Are you taking my presents?” Molly froze. A tiny girl in a tiara stood in the doorway, holding a half-eaten cupcake. Liliana. Molly’s mind raced. This was the variable they hadn’t accounted for: the target herself. She dropped into a crouch. “Shh! No! I’m… I’m the present inspector. Your parents hired me to check for… uh… glitter bombs. From a rival party planner. It’s a nasty business.” Liliana took another bite of cupcake. “They don’t look like bombs.” “That’s what makes them so dangerous.” Molly tapped a box conspiratorially. “This one feels suspiciously heavy.” “My grandpa gave me that. It’s a big box of Lego.” “Ah. Classic misdirection.” Molly stood, shifting the boxes. “Well, all clear here. You’re safe. For now.” From the front, Bill’s voice rose again, now in full theatrical retreat. “The pie prognosis is grim! I must go! Tell Liliana… Bobo sends his regrets and a coupon for ten percent off next birthday!” Molly made her escape, heart pounding. Bill was waiting by the car, panting. “Did you get them?” “Most of them.” She dumped the boxes in the trunk. “The big one’s Lego. It’s a premium item.” “Did you see the clown?” “I spoke with the birthday girl.” Bill went pale. “Was she suspicious?” Molly looked back at the house, at the glow from the windows. “She was eating a cupcake. She’ll be fine.” She started the engine. “Now, about the clown agency cover story. We need a name.” Bill perked up. “I was thinking ‘Bobo’s Big Day Out’?” “Absolutely not.” She pulled away from the curb. “We’re calling it ‘The Pie Incident.’ And for the record, next time, we’re stealing from adults. They don’t have tiaras.”