Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0PKJDZYMGYNNYQ0D60Y0YH

Molly spread a crayon-drawn map across the dashboard of Bill’s van. It showed a square labeled PARTY, a lopsided castle labeled BOUNCY DOOM, and thirty-seven circles labeled SMALL WITNESSES. Bill squinted at it. “Why is the cake marked with a skull?” “Because cake is always where plans go to die,” Molly said. “Focus. At three o’clock, the magician starts making balloon animals. At three-oh-five, every adult looks away to photograph a poodle made of latex. That is our moment.” “Our moment to steal from children.” “Our moment to liberate overwrapped consumer goods from an oppressive tissue-paper regime.” Bill adjusted his fake mustache, which had migrated toward his left ear. “Molly, I’m beginning to think this is morally complicated.” “It’s a heist, Bill. If it were morally simple, it would be called shopping.” Across the street, the children’s party pulsed with shrieking joy. Streamers flapped from the fence. A banner read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SOPHIE! Beneath it, a mountain of presents glittered on a picnic table like treasure in a dragon’s den, except the dragon was a seven-year-old wearing a tiara and frosting on both cheeks. Bill lowered his binoculars. “There are unicorn bags. I don’t steal unicorn bags. That’s a rule I just discovered.” “You have too many rules.” “I have three. No stealing unicorn bags, no capers before lunch, and no crimes involving glitter.” Molly glanced down at her black turtleneck. It was already sparkling. “Glitter is occupational weather.” She opened a duffel bag and removed their disguises: two oversized clown collars, rainbow suspenders, and hats with propellers. Bill recoiled. “Absolutely not.” “We go in as party helpers.” “I thought we were caterers.” “You ate the evidence.” “That was a tray of sausage rolls, Molly.” “It was our cover.” “It was delicious cover.” Molly shoved a propeller hat onto his head. It spun once, sadly. “We enter through the gate, mingle, approach the present table, and exit with the goods.” “And if someone asks why we’re taking presents?” “We say we’re moving them to the gift appreciation zone.” Bill stared at her. “That sounds like a place children would demand to visit.” “Then we say it’s closed for polishing.” “The presents are wrapped.” “Bill, confidence is just nonsense delivered upright.” A small boy in a pirate hat appeared at the fence and pointed at them. “Are you the clowns?” Molly froze. Bill waved. “No,” Molly hissed. “Yes,” Bill whispered back. “He can see the hat.” The boy brightened. “Mum! The clowns are here!” Within seconds, the gate opened and a woman with a camera beckoned them in. Molly’s plan, like many of Molly’s plans, had achieved success by tripping over a rake. They were swept into the garden. Children surrounded them with the terrifying efficiency of customs officers. “Make a balloon giraffe!” shouted one. “Do a joke!” demanded another. “Why is your mustache sideways?” asked Sophie, the birthday girl. Bill touched his face. “Fashion.” Molly edged toward the present table. “Bill, distraction.” Bill panicked, grabbed a balloon, and twisted it into something resembling a sausage that had heard bad news. “It’s a worm,” he announced. “That’s rubbish,” said Sophie. “It’s a worm with ambition,” Bill said. Molly reached the presents. They shimmered. They rustled. They were innocent, ridiculous, and tagged in careful handwriting: To Sophie, love Grandma. To Sophie, from Max. To Sophie, sorry about the goldfish, Uncle Pete. Her hand hovered over a unicorn bag. Bill’s voice floated over the chaos. “Molly?” She looked back. Bill was on one knee, accepting a paper crown from Sophie as if being knighted by a very sticky monarch. “This party has cake,” he said. “And frankly, better security than we expected.” Molly sighed, picked up the unicorn bag, and carried it to Sophie. “Your gift appreciation zone is right here, Your Majesty.” Sophie beamed. “You’re funny clowns.” Bill smiled. “We’re retired thieves.” “What?” “He said retired sleeves,” Molly said quickly. “Very fashionable.” Ten minutes later, Molly and Bill left with no presents, two slices of cake, and twenty-seven pounds in tips for balloon worms. In the van, Bill licked frosting from his thumb. “Another failed robbery,” Molly said. “Not failed,” Bill replied. “We stole the show.” Molly groaned. “That joke is a crime.” “At last,” Bill said, “a crime we can confess to.”