Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41MW8QF4JEYDY5MVVDNP8F

Molly spread the blueprints across the café table. A waiter glanced over, saw the crayon castle, and wisely retreated. “Target is the Bumblebee Room at Happy Hippo’s Fun Palace,” Molly said. “Four o’clock Saturday. Thirty children, forty presents, one inflatable giraffe.” “Why forty presents?” “Divorced parents competing.” “Brutal.” “Lucrative.” Bill sipped his milkshake. His moustache turned pink. The plan looked simple, which worried him. Molly’s simple plans usually involved dentistry, livestock, or both. Last Christmas, they had escaped a jeweler’s vault on a pantomime donkey named Trevor. “So we enter through the kitchen?” Bill asked. “No. Security gate.” “We have invitations?” “We have better.” Molly produced two yellow T-shirts. HAPPY HIPPO PARTY HEROES glittered across them. Bill stared. “I’m not wearing that.” “You wore lederhosen to rob a bank.” “Those had pockets.” “These have hippos.” “Hippos don’t hold lockpicks.” Molly flipped his shirt over. A purple hippo grinned beneath the words ASK ME ABOUT BIRTHDAY MAGIC. “I will not.” “You must. You’re Bouncy Bill, trainee entertainer.” “What are you?” “Management.” A whistle shrieked nearby. Both thieves ducked. A barista had dropped a tray. Molly tapped the drawing. The presents would sit beside the birthday throne, guarded by one exhausted parent and a teenager dressed as Captain Carrot. At four-thirty, Molly would trigger the fire alarm using a candle, a balloon, and an unfortunate papier-mâché dragon. “During evacuation, you take the trolley,” she said. “What trolley?” “The cake trolley.” “We’re stealing cake too?” “No.” “Then this plan lacks ambition.” “The presents go under the tablecloth. We wheel them through the kitchen and into our van.” “Children notice presents disappearing.” “Children notice sugar, noise, and immediate injustice. That’s why you release the hamsters.” Bill lowered his glass. “There are hamsters?” “Petting corner.” “That’s not a corner. That’s an accomplice network.” “Precisely.” Rain ticked against the window. Bill examined the guest list. Princess dolls, building sets, remote-controlled cars: a respectable haul. Then he saw the name at the top. “Birthday child: Elsie Finch, age six.” “Yes.” “Six?” “Usually follows five.” “We’re robbing a six-year-old.” “We’re robbing thirty parents who bought presents.” “For a six-year-old.” Molly folded her arms. Bill looked at the hippo shirt, then the blueprint, then Molly. “Counterproposal.” “I dislike it already.” “We infiltrate, assess security, eat cake, and steal nothing.” “That is attending a party.” “Exactly. Nobody suspects attendance.” “And profit?” “We steal the parents’ car keys.” “No.” “The magician’s wallet?” “No.” “Captain Carrot’s dignity?” “Already gone.” Molly sighed and gathered the plans. “You’ve become soft.” “You planned hamster chaos.” “I’m focused.” “You drew tiny masks on them.” “They’re professionals.” Bill smiled. “So we’re not taking the presents?” Molly tucked the shirts into her bag. “We take one thing.” “What?” “The inflatable giraffe.” “Why?” “Because, Bill, every heist needs ambition.”