Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2EVSFZZ6NCD9D2V0PW39SN

“You’re sure about this?” Bill whispered, peering through the rhinestone-encrusted binoculars at the bouncy castle. “I mean, sure-sure? Not ‘I-saw-it-on-a-cereal-box-and-it-looked-fun’ sure?” Molly adjusted the strap of her neon-pink fanny pack, which held a lockpick set and three juice boxes. “Bill, the target is a seven-year-old’s birthday party. The loot is a mountain of wrapped presents stacked near a piñata shaped like a unicorn. We are professionals.” “Professionals don’t usually hide behind a hedge wearing a giant balloon animal costume, Mol.” “It’s called a disguise. Blend in. The theme is circus. I’m a poodle. You’re a limping tiger.” Bill looked down at his own sagging orange-and-black bodysuit. “I wanted to be the magician. I had a whole spiel. ‘Now you see the present, now you don’t.’” “Your ‘spiel’ involves a smoke bomb and a rubber chicken. The magician is currently throwing up in the bathroom. Probably from too much cake. We strike now.” A shrill shriek erupted from the party. A child had fallen off the slide. “See?” Molly said. “Distraction. We go for the pile. Grab the big ones with the sparkly bows. Do not, under any circumstances, grab the one with the dinosaur wrapping. That’s for the birthday girl, and she’s got a kung-fu grip and a personal vendetta against anyone touching her stuff.” “How do you know that?” “I did reconnaissance. She bit the mailman last Tuesday.” Bill shook his head. “This is insane. We’re stealing from children. What if they cry? I can’t handle crying. Last time I tried to boost a toddler’s tricycle, I ended up buying it a juice box and apologizing to its mom.” “That was your fault. You offered to help it build a fort. We don’t build. We steal.” “Right. Steal. From a seven-year-old. While dressed as a tiger with one leg that’s twenty percent shorter than the other.” Molly sighed. “Fine. New plan. We use the bounce house as a smokescreen. You create a diversion by pretending to have a sudden allergy to face paint. I’ll crawl under the table and empty the gift bag into my fanny pack. If anyone asks, I’m a very small postal worker.” “You’re five-foot-nine.” “I’ll slouch. And wear the balloon poodle’s head.” Bill groaned. “We are the worst criminals. We once tried to rob a hot dog stand and forgot the ketchup.” “That was your fault! You wanted mustard!” “It’s a classic pairing!” A new scream pierced the air. The mother was heading toward the gift table. “Now or never!” Molly hissed. Bill took a deep breath. “Okay. But if I get glitter in my fur, you’re explaining this to my therapist.” “Deal. On three. One… two… three.” They charged. Bill immediately tripped over his own tail and face-planted into a bowl of fruit punch. Molly, undeterred, dove under the table, grabbed the sparkliest package, and rammed it into her fanny pack. It barely fit. The zipper screamed. “Freeze!” a voice boomed. They both looked up. The birthday girl stood over them, arms crossed, face smeared with blue frosting. “That’s my present,” she said. Molly grinned nervously. “It’s… a safety test. For pirates.” The girl narrowed her eyes. “You’re not pirates. You’re weird.” Bill sighed, pulling a juice box from his costume. “Want a Capri Sun?”