Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0P7QQ8P5YVA5AY2V5APDQN

Molly spread the birthday invitation on the bonnet of the ice cream van and pinned its corners with four stolen cupcakes. Across the street, balloons bobbed from the community hall like cheerful witnesses. Bill adjusted his paper crown in the wing mirror. It said PRINCESS SOPHIE in glitter. “It pinches,” he said. “It’s a disguise, Bill.” “It’s a hat for a six-year-old.” “You have a youthful forehead.” “I have a criminal forehead. There’s a difference.” Molly tapped the invitation. “Two o’clock: magician. Two-thirty: cake. Three o’clock: presents. We enter during the rabbit bit, blend with the parents, and exit before anyone notices the gift table is lighter than a politician’s promise.” Bill squinted at the hall. “How many presents?” “Thirty-seven visible, plus one suspiciously large box under the table.” “Bicycle?” “Too rectangular.” “Pony?” “Too quiet.” “Robot butler?” “Bill, it’s a children’s party in Croydon.” He nodded. “So, haunted dollhouse.” A shriek of laughter rose from inside. Molly watched a man in a purple cape trip over a balloon and recover with the dignity of a wet pigeon. “That’s the magician,” she said. “His name is Marvello the Magnificent.” “Is he magnificent?” “He has three stars on Yelp.” “Out of five?” “Out of ten.” Bill winced. “Poor rabbit.” Molly opened a rucksack and removed two objects: a clipboard and a tray of sausage rolls. “Phase one,” she said. “Authority. Nobody questions a clipboard.” “I question clipboards constantly.” “That’s because you were raised by suspicious ferrets.” “One ferret. And Aunt Linda.” She handed him the tray. “Phase two. Distraction.” Bill sniffed. “Are these poisoned?” “They’re vegetarian.” “That’s not the same thing, but it’s close.” Molly slipped on a lanyard reading PARTY HELPER. “You go in first. Offer snacks. I’ll inspect the presents, claiming a safety concern.” “What safety concern?” “Wrapping paper can be flammable.” “So can trousers, but nobody inspects those.” “Not since the Christmas job.” Bill sighed and looked through the van’s back window, where empty gift bags waited like open mouths. “Molly, are we definitely stealing from children?” “We’re stealing from parents who overbought plastic nonsense.” “The children will cry.” “Children cry when bananas break.” He considered this. “True. My nephew mourned a biscuit for twenty minutes.” Molly softened, just a little. “We take only the noisy toys, the educational toys, and anything requiring batteries not included. We’re basically heroes.” “Anti-squeak vigilantes.” “Exactly.” The hall doors opened, and a woman carrying a cake shaped like a dinosaur backed out, shouting, “Has anyone seen the matches?” Molly froze. Bill lifted the sausage rolls. “Improvisation,” she whispered. They crossed the street with the solemn purpose of surgeons. At the doorway, a small boy dressed as a pirate blocked them with a foam sword. “Password,” he demanded. Bill glanced at Molly. Molly smiled. “Marshmallow?” The boy narrowed his eyes. “Wrong.” Bill leaned down. “Listen, Captain, we’re with catering.” “Prove it.” Bill offered the tray. The boy took two sausage rolls, inspected them, and stepped aside. “Password accepted,” he said, mouth full. Inside, chaos reigned. Children galloped between chairs. Parents clutched paper cups. Marvello produced a handkerchief, dropped his wand, and somehow frightened himself. Molly moved toward the present table. Bill followed, distributing sausage rolls with the haunted expression of a man feeding pigeons in a storm. “There it is,” Molly murmured. “The haul.” The presents glittered in heaps: rockets, bears, boxes with bows like obedient octopuses. On top sat a card reading FOR SOPHIE, LOVE GRAN. Bill picked up a small parcel. It rattled. “Building blocks,” he said. “Classic.” “Bag it.” He didn’t move. “Bill.” He looked across the room. A little girl in a unicorn dress watched Marvello pull a rubber chicken from his sleeve. Her face shone with complete, unreasonable wonder. Bill set the parcel down. “Molly.” “No.” “I’m having a moral wobble.” “Have it later.” “It’s wobbling now.” Molly followed his gaze. Sophie clapped as the chicken squeaked. Then Marvello sneezed, and a deck of cards exploded from his hat. The children howled with delight. Molly closed the empty gift bag. “Fine,” she said. “New plan.” Bill brightened. “We leave?” “We steal the magician’s wallet.” “Molly.” “Kidding. Mostly.” She picked up the suspiciously large box and read the label: VOLUNTEER NEEDED—PARTY GAMES PRIZES. Bill grinned slowly. “Prizes?” “Unclaimed prizes.” “Morally loose prizes.” “Practically abandoned.” They each took an end of the box. At the door, the pirate boy reappeared. “Where are you going?” Molly raised the clipboard. “Safety inspection.” He frowned. “Of prizes?” Bill offered the final sausage roll. The pirate accepted it gravely. “Carry on.” Outside, they loaded the box into the van. Molly opened it. Inside were fifty kazoo whistles, glitter slime tubs, and a battery-powered dog that barked “Happy Birthday” in three languages. Bill stared. “We’ve saved them.” Molly shut the lid. “From noise, mess, and international barking.” From the hall came Sophie’s voice. “More sausage rolls!” Bill started the engine. “Next time, we rob a bank.” Molly buckled her seatbelt. “Banks have fewer pirates.”