Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0P6W1ZPRTP871B0MC9BENF

Molly spread the crayon map across the bonnet of the van and weighted the corners with two sausage rolls and a suspiciously sticky party hat. Across the street, balloons bobbed at the gate of Number 12, where shrieks of sugared joy rose like a police siren made of jelly. “Right,” Molly said. “Target: one children’s birthday party. Objective: all presents. Obstacle: thirty-seven small people with no fear of consequences.” Bill squinted at the map. “Why is the conservatory drawn as a dragon?” “Because their conservatory is guarded by a dog called Dragon.” “That seems misleading and also accurate.” Molly tapped the paper with a pink crayon. “We enter disguised as entertainers.” Bill looked down at his costume: oversized trousers, a waistcoat covered in sequins, and a rubber chicken tucked under one arm. “I thought we were going as plumbers.” “Plumbers don’t usually carry balloon animals.” “Neither do competent criminals.” A burst of laughter came from the garden. Someone shouted, “Again! Make him fall in the paddling pool again!” Bill flinched. “Children are basically tiny crime critics.” Molly nodded grimly. “Which is why we must be charming. We distract them with jokes, locate the gift table, and remove the parcels in an orderly fashion.” “Orderly fashion,” Bill repeated. “From a party where somebody has painted a sausage roll blue.” “It’s a theme.” “What theme?” “Panic, apparently.” Bill leaned closer to the hedge. Through a gap, he could see a long table piled high with brightly wrapped boxes, glittering bags, ribbons, and one enormous parcel shaped like a giraffe. His eyes widened. “That giraffe one is mine.” “You don’t know what it is.” “I know it understands me.” Molly rolled up the map. “Focus. We cannot be tempted by individual loot. We are professionals.” “You once stole a doorbell and then rang it for six hours.” “It was a quality doorbell.” The front door opened, and a woman in a unicorn apron carried out a cake shaped like a pirate ship. Twenty children began chanting with the force of an angry stadium. Bill swallowed. “Molly, I’m not sure about this.” “What, because of the children?” “Because that cake has cannons.” Molly adjusted her curly clown wig, which slipped sideways over one eye. “We have faced worse.” “We were chased by pensioners at a jumble sale.” “And survived.” “They had handbags full of coins.” Molly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bill, somewhere in that pile may be a remote-control car, three boxes of chocolates, and possibly cash from an uncle who didn’t know what to buy.” Bill took a deep breath. “You always know how to inspire a man.” At that moment, a little girl in a paper crown appeared at the gate. She stared at them, then at the van, then at the sausage rolls pinning down the map. “Are you the clowns?” she asked. Molly froze. Bill smiled too widely. “Yes,” he said. “Very clown. Extremely honk.” The girl narrowed her eyes. “Mum says you’re late.” Molly recovered. “A true artist arrives precisely when the custard pie demands.” The girl considered this. “Can you do magic?” Bill lifted the rubber chicken. “I can make this chicken disappointing.” She beamed. “Brilliant. Come on.” Molly and Bill exchanged a look as the gate swung open. The garden beyond was chaos: bubbles, streamers, toddlers with frosting on their elbows, and Dragon the dog wearing a tutu. The gift table glittered temptingly beside the shed. “Remember the plan,” Molly whispered. “Steal all the presents,” Bill whispered back. They stepped into the party. Immediately, a boy handed Molly three balloons and demanded a giraffe, while another child put a tiara on Bill’s head and declared him Queen Biscuit. Twenty minutes later, Molly was making her ninth balloon worm, Bill was judging a hopping race, and Dragon had fallen asleep on his shoes. The presents remained untouched. Bill leaned toward Molly. “New plan.” “What?” “We steal the leftover cake.” Molly watched the birthday girl hug a new teddy bear as if it had saved her life. She sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But only the corner piece.” “And the sausage rolls?” “We’re criminals, Bill. Not monsters.”