Run: 2026-05-10-01KR916KWSFTZESPNNPTTVQ2RR

Molly and Bill crouched behind the rhododendron bushes in Mrs. Pritchard’s back garden, the sound of squealing five-year-olds drifting through the open patio doors. Paper lanterns bobbed above a castle-shaped bouncy castle, and the table was piled with brightly-wrapped boxes that winked under the fairy lights. Molly adjusted her black ski mask and whispered, “I still think this is mental.” “Which part exactly?” Bill replied, tugging at the too-small clown costume he’d liberated from a charity shop earlier that afternoon. “Stealing from six-year-olds on a Saturday afternoon. I can practically feel karma lining up behind us with handcuffs.” Bill shrugged and peered around the bush. “Karma doesn’t bring snack platters or pass-the-parcel prizes. That table’s worth at least two months’ rent if we fence the good ones quick.” “Exactly. Good ones. Half of them are just boxes with socks inside. We’ll be knee-deep in glitter and disappointment.” “So we skip the socks,” Bill said, as though this solved the moral dilemma. “We go for anything that rattles or has a decent bow count. Easy in, easy out. I’ve timed the music game. Every time the grown-ups belt out ‘Happy Birthday,’ everyone’s distracted. That’s our window.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And what if some little terror recognises you from last week’s balloon delivery? You promised you’d retire after the bouncy-house gig.” Bill grinned, teeth white against the painted red smile. “I promised I’d retire once we could afford real retirement. This score might do it, if you stop worrying about the ethics of toy theft.” From the house came the first notes of the birthday song. Molly exhaled sharply and muttered, “Fine. Go for the big red dinosaur first; it looks heavy and expensive. I’ll sweep the Lego and the battery toys while you cause a diversion with the leftover cake.” Bill’s grin widened. “Distraction by dessert. Classic.” Molly pulled her mask lower and checked the stopwatch on her phone. “Thirty seconds until they finish singing. After that the kids stampede back to the bouncy castle. We move then, grab what we can carry, and leg it through the side gate before anyone notices the pile has shrunk.” “Or before Mrs. Pritchard realises she hired a pair of forty-year-old clowns who can’t even juggle,” Bill added cheerfully. Molly shot him a look that could have ignited the paper hats. “Let’s just get this done without traumatising anyone under four foot.” “Deal,” he said, and together they rose from the bushes as the final off-key note of “you” drifted across the lawn.