Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE8YA2DPJDVFDDS9Y1PRDZJ

The rain hammered against the window of the van, and Bill hunched over a crumpled birthday invitation like it was a treasure map. "Timmy's Turning Six," he read aloud, squinting at the glitter font. "Bounce house, magician, and—get this—a present table that the mother specifically said would be, quote, 'unattended for the whole party because I trust our neighborhood.'" Molly snorted, checking her lipstick in the side mirror. "People still say things like that?" "People in cul-de-sacs say all kinds of foolish things." "So what's the plan, genius? We just stroll in, grab an armful of Legos, and stroll out?" "Not quite." Bill pulled out two name tags, both reading HAPPY HELPER in cheerful bubble letters. "We're the entertainment. Face painting." Molly stared at him. "I don't know how to paint faces." "Neither do I. Doesn't matter. Kids'll ask for a butterfly, you give 'em a smudge, they'll cry, the mom will comfort them, and boom—nobody's watching the present table." "That's your plan? Cause chaos with bad face paint?" "You got a better one?" She thought about it, tapping a manicured nail against her knee. "Yeah. We tell them we're setting up a 'surprise present relocation' for the magic show. Big finale. Poof, gone, reappear somewhere else. Parents eat that stuff up." Bill grinned slowly. "That's actually good." "I know it's good. I've been doing this longer than you." "Four months longer." "Four very formative months." They pulled up outside a house strung with balloons shaped like dinosaurs, the yard littered with plastic dodgeball equipment and a bounce house wheezing in the corner like a tired animal. Bill grabbed the duffel bag stuffed with fake magician props—scarves, a top hat, a box with a false bottom big enough to smuggle out at least six wrapped gifts at a time. "Remember," Molly said, adjusting her wig in the visor mirror, "you're 'The Magnificent Barnaby.' I'm your lovely assistant, Fifi." "Fifi?" "You wanted last-minute? This is last-minute." "Fine. Fifi. Just don't laugh when I do the coin trick. I've been practicing all week and it still looks like I'm trying to swallow my own thumb." "No promises." They stepped out into the rain, ducking under a dripping banner that read HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY TIMMY, the letters slightly smudged from the storm. Bill straightened his fake mustache. Molly cracked her knuckles. "Showtime," she said. "Showtime," Bill agreed, already composing his most magnificent, most trustworthy magician's smile. "And Molly—try not to steal anything before the show's over. Kills the ambiance." "No promises," she said again, and pushed open the gate, straight into a yard full of six-year-olds who had absolutely no idea their birthday presents were about to disappear in a puff of glitter smoke.