Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2HS8V66H1GM84HA6XTZ343

Molly spread the blueprint across the dashboard, her elbow nudging the glove compartment open and sending a cascade of fast-food napkins into Bill’s lap. Through the windscreen, the target house glowed with primary-coloured bunting and the occasional shriek of an overdressed five-year-old. “Right, the bouncy castle is the key,” she said, tapping a pink rectangle sketched in glitter pen. “It creates a sound baffle. We enter via the side gate during the piñata. That’s when the parental supervision collapses into a ring of camera phones.” Bill squinted at the diagram, then at the inflatable monstrosity lurching on the lawn like a deranged lung. “You’ve drawn a unicorn vomiting a safe-cracking sequence. I’m not saying it’s not art, Molly, but I need specifics. What’s the guest-to-clown ratio?” “Three-to-one, leaning heavily toward the sugar-crazed. There’s a professional fairy-ballerina scheduled for four o’clock, and a man called Uncle Derek who’s been on the prosecco since noon and thinks he can do magic. The presents are stacked in the conservatory. Thirty-seven boxes of varying sizes, wrapped in paper that probably costs more per square inch than our last take. We’ll be in and out before Derek finds the second coin behind someone’s ear.” Bill retrieved a half-eaten lollipop from the cup holder, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth for dramatic effect. It was peach-flavoured, and clashed terribly with his cynical outlook. “And our costumes? I’m not wearing the squirrel suit again. The tail has a mind of its own, and last time I got trapped in a revolving door for eleven minutes.” Molly grinned, pulling two laminated badges from her bag. They read ‘Precious Moments Party Logistics’ above a stock photo of a smiling man in a cap. “We’re dialling it back. Utilitarian chic. We’re the lost-and-found coordination team. I’ve got a clipboard, you’ve got a high-vis vest. Our cover is that we’re collecting the gifts for ‘safe post-party transport’ at the request of the birthday boy’s mother, who is too frazzled to remember if she actually hired us.” “So we’re just walking in and taking them.” “I’ve also arranged a diversion. I’ve paid a local teen to release a box of hamsters into the pass-the-parcel circle. In the ensuing pandemonium, we load the haul into a branded van I’ve parked two streets over. It’s got a magnetic sign that says ‘Bouncy Castle Deflation Services’. Nobody questions a man in a high-vis vest carrying a large cardboard box during a rodent-based emergency.” Bill chewed the lollipop stem, thinking. “What about the piñata? If Derek the magician misses and clocks a child, the whole timeline shifts.” “Exactly why you’re on backup piñata duty. I have a spare candy-filled dinosaur in the trunk. If the mood sours, you step in and scream ‘Surprise bonus piñata!’ and we buy ourselves another ninety seconds of anarchy.” She took the lollipop out of his mouth and pointed it at the house. “The real beauty? No alarms. They’ve left the conservatory windows open to let out the smell of fish fingers. It’s a moral outrage how easy this is.” Bill straightened his imaginary tie. “Fine. But I’m not deflating the actual bouncy castle. I have my limits.”