Run: 2026-07-09-01KX4052CGVTHA36EMTNFFCMFD

Rain polished the alley behind Giggles McSprinkles’ Deluxe Party Palace, turning the puddles pink beneath a flickering neon clown. Molly crouched beside a recycling bin, studying the building through opera glasses. Bill stood behind her wearing a papier-mâché dragon head and trousers covered in silver scales. “You look ridiculous,” Molly said. “I’m camouflage.” “You’re a dragon in an alley.” “Exactly. Nobody questions a dragon near children.” “Everybody questions a dragon near children.” Bill lifted the dragon head. “Then why did you tell me the party theme was medieval?” “I said magical.” “Dragons are magical.” “So are accountants who return phone calls, but I didn’t dress as one.” Inside, twenty children shrieked with the concentrated force of a jet engine. Through the kitchen door marched entertainers, caterers, and one exhausted man carrying a cake shaped like a unicorn. Beyond them, beneath an arch of balloons, towered the presents: glittering boxes, colossal bags, ribbons wide enough to tow a bus. Molly lowered the glasses. The heap was magnificent. It was also guarded by a woman in a tiara who had the posture of a prison warden. “That’s the birthday girl’s grandmother,” Molly whispered. “Dangerous?” “She frisked the magician.” “Perhaps she wanted his rabbit.” “She found three flasks and a marked deck.” Bill nodded gravely. “Professional.” Molly opened a duffel bag. Inside lay two fluorescent vests, a clipboard, a coil of rope, and a label reading EMERGENCY GIFT INSPECTION UNIT. “We enter through catering,” she said. “You create a distraction. I certify the presents as structurally unsound, load them onto the laundry trolley, and leave.” “What distraction?” “Something subtle.” Bill replaced the dragon head. “Fire?” “No fire.” “Bees?” “No bees.” “Fire bees?” Molly stared at him. “They’re memorable,” Bill conceded. The kitchen door burst open. A harassed clown emerged, tripped over the threshold, and landed face-first in a puddle. He sat up without dignity, his red nose squeaking. “I quit!” he bellowed, tearing off his wig. “They bite!” Molly and Bill watched him sprint away. Bill pointed after him. “The universe has provided a vacancy.” Minutes later, Molly pushed a laundry trolley through the kitchen while Bill waddled beside her in the dragon suit, now wearing the abandoned rainbow wig. Flour-dusted cooks barely glanced up. One handed Bill a tray of sausage rolls. The party hall roared. Children chased bubbles beneath dangling stars. The grandmother guarded the gifts, arms folded. “You,” she said to Molly. “What unit?” “Emergency Gift Inspection.” “Never heard of it.” “That means we’re effective.” The grandmother narrowed her eyes. Behind Molly, Bill began his distraction by attempting a cartwheel. The dragon tail caught a tablecloth. Cups, plates, and a bowl of purple punch slid majestically toward the floor. Every child cheered. Bill crashed into the gift pile. A box split open. Out tumbled six remote-controlled police cars, which activated at once, sirens wailing as they circled him. The grandmother smiled without warmth. “Inspection complete?” Molly raised her clipboard. “Catastrophic failure.” Then the children swarmed the toppled presents, ripping paper with joyous violence. Within seconds, every box was opened, every toy claimed, and the fortune became a battlefield of dolls, robots, and sticky fingerprints. Bill crawled to Molly, pursued by police cars. “Plan B?” he asked. Molly grabbed two sausage rolls from his tray. “Retirement,” she said.