Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0MYBB3EYJEX855ZRAT5F8K

Molly crouched behind the hedge in a sequined tracksuit, peering through binoculars at the village hall. Inside, a dozen children in paper crowns shrieked around a magician, while a mountain of wrapped presents glittered beside the cake table. Bill, wedged beside her with a clipboard and a sausage roll, whispered, “Right. Operation Birthday Badger is moments from glory.” Molly lowered the binoculars. “I still hate the name.” “You loved it in the van.” “I was carsick and vulnerable.” “It has menace.” “It has woodland mange.” Bill licked pastry flakes off his thumb. “Fine. Operation Present Tense.” “Worse.” “Operation Tiny Tears?” “That sounds like a doll with a bladder problem.” Bill sighed. “We’re wasting valuable criminal moonlight.” “It’s three in the afternoon.” “Criminal moonlight is a state of mind.” Molly looked back through the binoculars. “There are four adults, one magician, one grandmother with the eyes of a hawk, and a child in a dinosaur suit guarding the gift pile.” Bill consulted the clipboard. “The dinosaur is Timmy. Seven. Weakness: orange squash.” “How do you know that?” “I mingled.” “You what?” “I wore a party hat and asked questions.” “You are a forty-six-year-old man with a mustache shaped like regret. How did no one stop you?” Bill straightened proudly. “I said I was an uncle.” “Whose uncle?” “All of them. Children don’t check paperwork.” A balloon popped inside. Both thieves flinched. Bill dropped the sausage roll into a flowerbed. Molly hissed, “Focus. We need a diversion.” “I’ve arranged one.” “You’ve arranged one?” “Yes.” “What kind?” Bill pointed toward the car park, where a small pony in a glittery saddle stood tied to a lamppost, chewing a traffic cone. Molly stared. “Bill.” “Meet Captain Sprinkles.” “Bill.” “He does parties.” “He’s eating municipal property.” “He has range.” Molly rubbed her temples. “How is a pony a diversion?” “At precisely three fifteen, I release Captain Sprinkles. He trots in, children cheer, adults panic, magician feels threatened professionally, and we slip in dressed as caterers.” “We don’t have caterer outfits.” Bill opened a plastic bag and produced two aprons. One read KISS THE COOK. The other read I’M WITH PUDDING. Molly said, “I am not wearing I’m With Pudding.” “Then I shall make the sacrifice.” “You already are pudding.” “That is hurtful and accurate.” From inside came a chorus of “Happy Birthday,” wildly out of tune. Molly checked her watch. “They’re at cake stage. Present opening in ten minutes. We need to move.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Aprons on.” They wriggled into the aprons behind the hedge. Molly’s sequins flashed under KISS THE COOK like a disco in witness protection. Bill whispered, “Do I look like catering?” “You look like a man who has eaten catering and blamed foxes.” “Perfect. Authentic.” Molly grabbed his clipboard. “Where are the presents going once we nab them?” “Van.” “The van with HAPPY CLOWN LAUNDRY written on the side?” “Camouflage.” “It’s a children’s party, Bill. A clown laundry van is not camouflage. It’s a confession with wheels.” “It was cheap.” A small face appeared above the hedge. The dinosaur child blinked at them through green felt jaws. Bill froze. Molly smiled too broadly. The child said, “Are you the puppet show?” Bill whispered, “Abort?” Molly whispered back, “Improvise.” Bill puffed out his chest. “Yes, young lizard. I am Professor Pudding, and this is my assistant, Madam Cook.” The child frowned. “You don’t have puppets.” Molly grabbed two garden gnomes from beside the hedge and held them up. “We do now.” Bill made one gnome bob. “Hello, I am Sir Smallboots, and I pay my taxes.” The dinosaur considered this. “That’s boring.” Molly made the other gnome smack Bill’s gnome. “And I am Lady Bonk, queen of hitting!” The child’s eyes widened. “Mum! The puppet people are here!” Molly and Bill exchanged a look as the hall door opened and children began pouring out, cheering. Bill whispered, “New plan?” Molly whispered, “We perform, survive, and leave.” “What about the presents?” She glanced at the laughing children, then at Bill’s gnome, which had lost its hat. “We steal cake instead.” Bill smiled. “Molly, that is why you’re the brains.” “And you’re the pudding.” Captain Sprinkles chose that moment to break free, trot into the car park, and deposit the traffic cone at Molly’s feet like a tribute. The children applauded wildly. Bill bowed. “Operation Birthday Badger is a triumph.” Molly picked up the cone. “Say that again and Lady Bonk takes your knees.”