Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0NDXBW201R1EJ0HRNARPF2

Molly unfolded the crayon map on the roof of the kebab shop and pinned down one corner with a half-eaten chip. Across the alley, the community hall glowed with strings of fairy lights and menace. Inside, thirty sugar-fueled children shrieked around a mountain of presents large enough to qualify for its own postcode. Bill peered through binoculars held the wrong way around. “Tiny,” he said. “That’s because you’re looking at them from space,” Molly said, turning the binoculars around in his hands. Bill refocused and flinched. “Good grief. One of them has a sword.” “It’s a balloon sword.” “It’s still pointed.” Molly tapped the map. “We enter through the kitchen at seventeen hundred. Disguise: entertainers. Objective: presents. Exit: fire door, across the bins, into the van.” “The van that says Happy Clown Laundry?” “Camouflage.” “It also says, We remove suspicious stains.” “That’s called realism.” Below, a man in a pirate hat carried a tray of sausage rolls past the kitchen window. Molly watched him carefully. The window was ajar. The security system consisted of one elderly aunt in a cardigan and a Labrador wearing a party hat. Bill swallowed. “I don’t like this job.” “You don’t like any job.” “I liked the museum one.” “You fainted inside a suit of armor.” “It was emotionally cramped.” Molly rolled the map. “Listen. We’re not taking from children. We’re taking from parents who overbought because of competitive birthday politics. Half those boxes are educational toys. We’re practically rescuing the children.” Bill considered this. “From learning?” “Exactly.” A cheer rose from the hall. The birthday child, identifiable by a crown, was being spun in a chair by adults who had lost control of the evening and possibly their lives. Molly pulled two glittery waistcoats from her bag and tossed one to Bill. He held it at arm’s length. “Why am I wearing sequins?” “Because you are Professor Bumbles.” “I thought I was Knife Bill.” “Not at a children’s party.” “Fair.” Ten minutes later, they slipped through the kitchen window and landed behind a stack of jelly cups. Molly adjusted her fake mustache. Bill accidentally put his red nose in his mouth and coughed it into a bowl of punch. The Labrador lifted its head. “Nice doggy,” Bill whispered. The Labrador sneezed, wagged, and returned to licking icing off the floor. They passed into the hall to instant applause. Molly froze, then bowed. Bill, trapped by expectation, made a rabbit from a handkerchief, except it looked like a damp fist. A child in goggles shouted, “Do magic!” Bill whispered, “Molly, do we know magic?” “We know misdirection.” “That’s crime magic.” Molly smiled at the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen, and small sticky persons, direct your attention to Professor Bumbles.” Bill went pale. “Behold,” he said, grabbing the nearest object, “the vanishing sausage roll.” He ate it. The children roared approval. While Bill performed increasingly desperate snack-based miracles, Molly edged toward the present table. The packages gleamed under pink bunting: rockets, dolls, puzzles, plush dragons, one box buzzing faintly. She opened her sack. Then she saw the tags. For Alfie. For Nina. For Sam. Love, Gran. Happy Birthday, Daisy. You are brave and brilliant. Molly’s hand paused. Behind her, Bill announced, “And now I shall pull a coin from this young gentleman’s ear, assuming he has one.” The children howled. Molly looked at the presents again. She had stolen diamonds, paintings, and once, by mistake, a mayor. None had looked so personally wrapped. None had bows tied by hands that cared. The elderly aunt in the cardigan appeared beside her. “Cup of tea, dear?” Molly jerked upright. “I was just guarding these.” “Kind of you. Children do get excited.” The aunt smiled. “You entertainers are much nicer than last year’s magician. He made my handbag disappear.” “Did he bring it back?” “No.” “Amateur,” Molly muttered. Across the room, Bill caught her eye while wearing a paper plate as a hat. He glanced at the sack, then at the children, then mouthed, No? Molly mouthed back, No. Bill nodded with visible relief and tripped over a balloon giraffe. They left twenty minutes later to thunderous applause, paid in cake, party bags, and seven pounds in coins from the aunt, who insisted they had earned it. Outside, in the alley, Bill opened his party bag. “Mini bubbles,” he said. “A whistle. Two chocolates. This is a better haul than the bank.” Molly bit into a slice of cake. “We’re not becoming party entertainers.” Bill blew the whistle. It made a noise like a duck being insulted. Molly sighed. “One booking. Maybe two.”