Run: 2026-07-09-01KX406NZ30QT0RQ6F6C405B0X

Molly crouched behind the hedge, peering through the slats of a white picket fence at the bungalow’s garden. Balloons bobbed over a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KEVIN! A magician in a purple cape was trying to remove a rabbit from a hat while six children screamed as if the rabbit had pulled a knife. Bill adjusted his black ski mask, which had a pom-pom on top. “Why have you got a pom-pom?” “It’s camouflage,” Bill whispered. “Against what?” “Festivity.” Molly checked the lawn. The presents were stacked beneath a plastic garden table, wrapped in shiny paper and guarded by nobody except a sleeping golden retriever wearing a paper crown. “That’s the loot,” she said. “Two bicycles, three remote-control cars, something in a box shaped like a microwave, and approximately forty-seven kilos of educational plastic.” Bill squinted. “You reckon there’s cash?” “Children’s parties always have cash. Grandparents panic when they don’t know what a child likes.” A shriek rose from the garden. The magician had produced a bouquet of flowers from Kevin’s ear. Kevin looked furious. “We go in during the cake,” Molly said. “Everyone gathers round, sings badly, and becomes temporarily deafened by candles.” “Candles don’t deafen people.” “Kevin’s got cousins. Trust me.” Bill opened his backpack and displayed a coil of rope, two suction cups, a glass cutter, and a packet of cheese-and-onion crisps. “You brought snacks?” “They’re for morale.” “They’re for you.” “Morale is me.” Molly sighed. “The back gate’s unlocked. We slip behind the shed, cross to the patio, lift the presents, and leave through the alley. No complications.” Bill nodded solemnly. “No touching the clown.” “There is no clown.” “There’s always a clown.” At that moment, a large man in striped trousers emerged from the house carrying a tray of juice boxes. His painted smile was smudged beneath one eye. Bill pointed. “I rest my case.” The clown tripped over a garden gnome, launched the juice boxes into the air, and was immediately surrounded by delighted children. Molly watched the confusion spread. “That’s our window.” They darted through the gate, keeping low behind a paddling pool shaped like a pirate ship. Bill’s pom-pom snagged on an inflatable palm tree. “Hold still,” Molly hissed. “I am holding still.” “You’re wriggling.” “I’m being attacked by the tropics.” She yanked him free, and they hurried toward the present pile. The dog opened one eye. Bill froze. “It knows.” “It’s asleep.” “It’s spiritually awake.” Molly took a packet of crisps from his backpack, tore it open, and tossed one toward the flowerbed. The dog’s nose twitched. It rose, padded after the crisp, and discovered the entire packet. “You bribed a dog with my morale,” Bill said. “Adapt.” They reached the presents. Molly grabbed the handles of a huge glittery bag. “What’s in this one?” Bill asked. “Does it matter?” “It matters if it’s a pony.” “Presents don’t come in bags if they’re ponies.” “Depends how committed the grandparents are.” From the lawn came the first strains of “Happy Birthday.” Every child sang at a different speed. The magician clapped off-beat. Kevin’s grandmother began filming with a tablet held upside down. Molly loaded boxes into Bill’s backpack. “Take the cars.” “Got them.” “The bikes?” “Too big.” “Then take the vouchers.” Bill found an envelope tied with a silver ribbon. “Jackpot.” A small voice spoke behind them. “Why are you stealing my presents?” Molly and Bill turned. Kevin stood there in a tiny plastic crown, frosting on his chin and a foam sword in his hand. Bill straightened. “We’re not stealing them.” Kevin narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got my robot dinosaur.” “It wandered into the bag.” “Everything wandered into the bag.” Molly glanced toward the adults, still singing with the grave concentration of people trying to remember the second verse. “Listen, Kevin. We’re quality-control inspectors.” “For presents?” “Yes,” Molly said. “We test whether they’re exciting enough.” Kevin considered this. “Is the dinosaur exciting?” Bill pressed a button on the box. A tinny roar erupted. The dog barked. The clown screamed and fell into the cake. Kevin grinned. “Very.” Molly handed him the voucher envelope. “Tell you what. We’ll leave the presents, and you don’t mention us.” “What do I get?” Bill looked at the enormous cake, now wearing the clown like a hat. “You get to choose the first slice,” he said. Kevin nodded. “Deal.” They slipped back through the gate empty-handed, except for Bill’s crisps, which were now gone. “Worst heist ever,” Bill muttered. Molly looked back at the birthday garden, where Kevin was raising his foam sword triumphantly over the ruined cake. “Not worst,” she said. “We got out alive.” Bill’s stomach growled. “Can we rob a bakery?” “Now that,” Molly said, “is a professional target.”