Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRKW8YF9MTZ6M92FC584S7

Molly spread the napkin across the diner table and flattened it with the side of her hand like it was a blueprint worth millions. "That's the bouncy castle," she said, tapping a grease stain. "That's the piñata. And that, Bill, that is where they stack the presents." "On a trestle table." "On a *tablecloth*, Bill. Plastic. Slippery. We slide the whole lot into a bin bag in under nine seconds." Bill stirred his coffee for a long time. "It's a child's birthday party." "It's an unguarded pile of high-value goods in a suburb with no CCTV." "It's Kayleigh Fenwick's seventh." "Do you know what seven-year-olds get these days? Tablets. Bluetooth headphones. One of them's bringing a drone, I heard it at the school gates." "You were at the school gates?" "I was doing reconnaissance." "You were loitering." "Reconnaissance is loitering with a plan," Molly said. "Now. Entry. Side gate, unlocked, because Trevor Fenwick is a man who trusts the world. Two adults on the barbecue, three inside doing sandwiches, and one on the bouncy castle, which is Gran, and Gran cannot get out of a bouncy castle unassisted. That's six neutralised without lifting a finger." "And the fourteen children?" "Distracted." "By?" "You." Bill set down his spoon. "No." "The costume's in the car." "Molly." "It's a very good costume." "It's a rabbit with one ear." "It's a *bunny entertainer*, and children are famously uncritical." "Children are the most critical audience on earth. Children are honest. A four-year-old once told me I smelled like a bin, and she was right, and I've never recovered." "You'll have balloons," Molly said. "Balloon animals draw a crowd. Once they're crowded, they're contained, and once they're contained, I'm at the table with the bag." "What if they want a specific animal? I only know sausage dog." "Tell them it's a giraffe with confidence." "Confidence isn't a shape, Molly." "Everything's a shape if you commit." She turned the napkin around. "Exit's the alley behind the shed. We're in the van by twenty past three, presents redistributed by five, and nobody gets hurt except emotionally." "Fourteen children, emotionally." "They'll learn resilience. It's a gift, arguably. Arguably we're the only ones bringing a real present." Bill rubbed his face. "You know what I keep thinking about? The little one, the cousin, the one with the plaster on her knee. She'll cry." "She'll cry anyway. There's a piñata. Somebody always cries at a piñata." "That's a different crying." "Crying is crying, Bill, it's not got a flavour." Molly leaned in. "Look. Nine seconds. One bag. Kayleigh Fenwick's dad sells conservatories to pensioners who don't want conservatories. There's a moral dimension here and it's on our side." Bill was quiet. Then: "Do I get to keep the drone?" "You get to keep the drone." "And I'm not doing 'Happy Birthday.'" "Nobody's asking you to sing." "They always ask the bunny to sing." "Then hum," said Molly, folding the napkin into her pocket, "and hum like a professional."