Run: 2026-07-09-01KX4120Z1JQB0EDS3C3Z03DWF

Molly crouched behind the hedge opposite the Wobblebottom Community Hall, studying the children’s party through binoculars shaped like tiny opera glasses. Balloons bobbed in the windows. A cardboard pirate ship leaned dangerously near the buffet table. Inside, twenty sugared children shrieked as a magician extracted scarves from his sleeve with the exhausted air of a man emptying a vacuum cleaner. Bill waited beside her, dressed in black from bowler hat to socks, except for the enormous yellow duck float around his waist. “Why,” Molly whispered, “are you wearing that?” “Camouflage.” “It is a duck.” “Exactly. Nobody suspects a duck.” “Nobody suspects a burglar either, until he turns up dressed as bath time.” Bill adjusted the duck. “This is a children’s party. We must blend in.” Molly lowered her binoculars. “You are forty-seven, six foot three, and have a tattoo that says ‘Mum’s Bad Boy’ on your neck.” “I’ll wear a scarf.” “The tattoo is on your neck.” “A long scarf.” Across the road, a woman in a pirate hat carried a tray of cupcakes through the hall doors. Molly watched the doors swing shut, then checked the clipboard tucked beneath her arm. It contained the party schedule, obtained from the birthday child’s grandmother after Molly had pretended to be conducting a survey about doilies. At two thirty: pass the parcel. At two forty-five: jelly incident, apparently scheduled. At three: cake. At three fifteen: presents. “The gifts are stacked by the stage,” Molly said. “We enter during the magician’s finale. Everyone looks at the rabbit, we take the loot, and we leave through the kitchen.” Bill frowned. “What if the rabbit looks at us?” “Then we compliment its waistcoat and continue.” “I don’t like rabbits. They know things.” “They know lettuce.” “They know secrets about lettuce.” A burst of applause came from inside. The magician raised both arms triumphantly, while a white rabbit sat on his shoulder with the blank expression of a tax inspector. Molly unfolded two small party hats. “Our disguises.” Bill accepted one gingerly. “Mine says Birthday Princess.” “Wear it confidently.” “Can I swap with you?” “No. Mine says Captain Sparkles.” “That sounds more authoritative.” “It has a unicorn on it.” “Authoritative unicorn.” They crossed the road in a casual, criminal manner, which meant Molly walked briskly and Bill tried to whistle but only produced a noise like a kettle apologising. At the door, Molly rang the bell. A small boy in an eye patch opened it. “Yes?” he demanded. Bill froze. Molly smiled. “We’re from the balloon people.” The boy looked past them. “Where are the balloons?” Bill lifted the duck float. “This one got promoted.” The boy considered this. “Fair enough.” He waved them in. The hall smelled of frosting, damp coats, and the unique panic of adults supervising fizzy drinks. Parents clustered near the tea urn while children spun in circles beneath a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUCAS! The presents waited beside the stage: a mountain of brightly wrapped boxes, gift bags, and one suspiciously large parcel shaped like a bicycle. Bill’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of presents.” “Focus,” Molly said. “We need a container.” Bill patted the duck. “I have capacity.” “For one sock.” “For a very special sock.” The magician clapped his hands. “And now, children, for my astonishing disappearing act!” Every face turned toward the stage. Molly seized a gift bag. Bill grabbed two boxes and immediately dropped one on his foot. “Quietly,” Molly hissed. “It’s got corners!” A little girl looked up from the floor. “Mummy, the duck man is stealing Lucas’s presents.” Bill smiled at her. “Borrowing. Very briefly.” Molly snatched the nearest parcel, shoved it into Bill’s arms, and headed for the kitchen. Behind them, the magician opened his cape, the rabbit vanished, and twenty children began screaming with delight. Bill lumbered after Molly, duck squeaking at every step. “Next time,” he puffed, “we rob a bank.” Molly shoved open the kitchen door. “Banks don’t have cake.” Bill stopped, stared at the enormous iced pirate ship on the counter, and nodded solemnly. “Then this,” he said, “is the perfect crime.”