Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0PDN8TBKGB2C823E16047B

Molly unfolded the map on the dashboard, though it was really just a crayon drawing she’d stolen from the community center noticeboard. It showed a smiling sun, three balloons, and a cake the size of a bungalow. “According to my intelligence,” Molly said, tapping the paper, “the party begins at two, the magician arrives at two-thirty, and the parents become helplessly distracted by gluten-free cupcakes at two-forty.” Bill squinted at the drawing. “That’s not intelligence. That’s a rainbow with legs.” “It’s a bouncy castle.” “It says ‘My Fun Day’ in macaroni.” “Exactly. Inside information.” They sat in Bill’s van across from the village hall. On the side of the van, peeling letters read BILL’S BATHROOM RESEALING, though Bill had never resealed anything except an envelope, and even that had gone poorly. “So we go in as entertainers,” Molly said. Bill adjusted his enormous red bow tie. “I still think ‘children’s party burglar’ is a poor career direction.” “We are not burglars. We are redistribution specialists.” “Redistributing presents from children?” “Temporarily.” “To whom?” “To us, pending review.” Bill watched a tiny girl in a tiara drag a wrapped box almost as big as herself toward the hall. “That one’s got ponies on the paper,” he said. “My niece likes ponies.” “Focus.” “I am focused. I’m focused on the moral sinkhole beneath our feet.” Molly sighed and pulled two costumes from a bin bag. One was a pirate coat. The other was a foam dinosaur head with sad eyes. “You’re Captain Bathroom,” she said. “I beg your pardon?” “And I’m Mollysaurus Rex.” “Why am I bathroom-themed?” “Brand consistency.” A car horn beeped behind them. Bill jumped so hard the dinosaur head rolled into his lap. “This is doomed,” he said. “We’ll be caught by a room full of seven-year-olds.” “Children are easy to fool.” “Last week one asked me why my eyebrows looked tired. I had no answer.” Molly slipped into the pirate coat and stuck a plastic hook over her hand. “Plan A: we perform a puppet show near the gift table. While they laugh, you load presents into the cake trolley.” “Do we have a cake trolley?” She pointed to a rusty wheelbarrow in the back. “That’s a wheelbarrow.” “It has wheel. It has barrow. Don’t be elitist.” Bill rubbed his face. “Molly, what if the presents are just socks and puzzles?” “Then we pivot.” “To what?” “Party bags.” The hall doors opened. A woman in a cardigan hurried out carrying a clipboard and panic. “Excuse me!” she called. “Are you the entertainers?” Molly smiled broadly. “Indeed we are.” Bill whispered, “No, we aren’t.” “Yes,” Molly whispered back, “we are now.” The woman clasped her hands. “Oh, thank goodness. The magician canceled. Food poisoning. Can you do forty minutes?” “Forty?” Bill croaked. Molly jabbed him with the hook. “Captain Bathroom can do balloon animals.” “I can’t.” “He’s modest.” “I’m truthful.” The woman seized Bill’s sleeve. “Brilliant. The children are restless.” Inside, chaos glittered. Balloons bobbed, jelly trembled, and a mountain of presents shone under a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAISIE. Twenty children turned toward Molly and Bill with the hungry expectation of wolves in party hats. Molly lifted her hook. “Ahoy, tiny taxpayers!” Silence. Bill raised one hand. “Who wants to hear about grout?” A boy near the front frowned. “Are you real pirates?” Molly opened her mouth. Bill said, “No.” The children booed. Molly leaned close. “You’re sinking us.” “I refuse to lie to short people.” “Then distract them.” “With what?” Bill panicked, grabbed a balloon, twisted it twice, and produced something that looked like a sausage having an argument. “Dog?” he offered. The children erupted with laughter. “Again!” shouted Maisie, the birthday girl. Bill blinked. “You liked that?” “It’s horrible!” she squealed. “Make a worse one!” Soon Bill was surrounded, twisting balloons into disastrous giraffes, tragic swords, and one object everyone agreed was probably a potato. Molly edged toward the presents with the wheelbarrow, but Maisie appeared beside her. “What are you doing?” Maisie asked. “Guarding the treasure.” “Those are my presents.” “Precisely. Very stealable.” Maisie narrowed her eyes. “Are you a baddie?” Molly hesitated. Across the room Bill wore three balloon hats and was laughing despite himself. “I’m considering retirement,” Molly said. Maisie handed her a paper plate. “Have cake first.” Molly looked at the presents, then the cake, then Bill, who shouted, “Behold! A flamingo with anxiety!” The children cheered. Molly took the plate. “Fine. But I’m stealing a slice.” Maisie nodded solemnly. “That’s allowed.”