Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41JHDG37ZK498FYKBRD1EH

Molly crouched behind the hedge, peering through the slats of the birthday venue’s garden fence. Beyond it, a dozen children shrieked around a bouncy castle shaped like a pirate ship. Balloons bobbed from every chair. A clown in a striped waistcoat made balloon animals with the solemnity of a surgeon. Bill adjusted his black wool cap. “I don’t like it.” “You don’t like any job where the victims are under four feet tall.” “They’re unpredictable at that height. Adults scream, then call the police. Children bite.” Molly unfolded a hand-drawn map of the house. “The presents are piled in the dining room. We go through the kitchen window, cross the hall, grab the loot, and leave through the side gate.” Bill squinted at the map. “Why is there a dragon?” “That’s the bouncy castle.” “Why is it breathing fire?” “Because I ran out of green marker.” A child in a pirate hat launched himself from the bouncy castle and landed face-first in a paddling pool. The other children cheered. Bill watched grimly. “See? No rules. No consequences. Tiny anarchists.” Molly tucked the map into her sleeve. “Focus. The parents are distracted by prosecco and competitive cupcake decorating. The birthday boy is occupied with a magician.” “What sort of magician?” “The sort with a cape.” Bill nodded, deeply concerned. “Professional?” “Bill, he has rabbits painted on his shoes.” “That means nothing. The great Houdini wore shoes.” “Houdini died in 1926.” “Exactly. That’s how professional he was.” They slipped around to the back of the house, keeping low beneath a line of bunting. Bill carried a canvas sack labeled POTATOES, which Molly considered a nice touch. He tried the kitchen window. “It’s locked,” he whispered. “Of course it’s locked. You’re supposed to pick it.” “I was checking whether crime had become easier.” Molly produced a slim set of tools. “Keep watch.” Bill glanced toward the garden. “The clown is looking at us.” “The clown is looking at everyone. That’s his job.” “No, this is different. He has the eyes of a man who knows things.” The window clicked open. Molly climbed inside, then held out a hand. Bill hauled himself through with considerably less elegance, knocking a spoon from the draining rack. It hit the tiled floor with a metallic clatter. They froze. From the garden came the magician’s booming voice. “And now, children, watch closely as I make this egg disappear!” A chorus of gasps followed. Then someone shouted, “It’s in your sleeve!” Bill exhaled. “Amateurs.” They crept into the hall. The dining-room door stood ajar, and the presents waited beyond it in a glorious mound of glossy paper, ribbons, gift bags, and tiny cards. Bill’s eyes widened. “Look at that. There’s enough here to retire.” “To a country where everyone is seven?” “Children have excellent stuff. Remote-control dinosaurs. Building sets. One of those scooters with lights in the wheels.” Molly picked up a heavy rectangular package. “This says ‘For Oliver, from Grandma.’” “Grandma’s always the big spender.” “Don’t get sentimental.” “I’m not sentimental. I’m appraising.” They began loading the sack. Molly worked efficiently, selecting the largest boxes. Bill paused over a gift shaped like a football. “What?” Molly hissed. “It’s addressed to Oliver from his cousin Daisy.” “So?” “Daisy probably saved her pocket money.” “Bill.” “She might have done chores.” “Bill.” He put it in the sack, but with the expression of a man burying a favorite uncle. A small voice came from the doorway. “Are you stealing my presents?” Molly and Bill turned. The birthday boy stood there in a cardboard crown, clutching a plastic cutlass. He could not have been older than six. Behind him, the magician’s white rabbit sat in a laundry basket, chewing a ribbon. Bill slowly raised both hands. “No.” The boy looked at the sack. “Then why have you got my presents in a potato bag?” Bill considered this. “We’re… party inspectors.” Molly stared at him. “Safety inspectors,” Bill continued. “Checking for dangerous presents.” The boy narrowed his eyes. “What’s dangerous about a dinosaur?” “Depends what it did,” said Bill. Molly stepped forward. “We’re making sure everything is suitable for a very important birthday boy.” The child brightened. “That’s me.” “We know,” Molly said. “You have a crown.” He looked down at it proudly. “I’m Captain Oliver.” Bill nodded. “Then perhaps Captain Oliver should inspect the presents with us.” Oliver pointed his cutlass at the sack. “Open it.” Molly and Bill exchanged a glance. Outside, the children began chanting for cake. The clown laughed too loudly. Somewhere, a balloon popped like a gunshot. Bill sighed and emptied the sack onto the dining-room table. “Fine,” he said. “But if there’s a dangerous dinosaur, I’m keeping it.”