Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCY664SGT876M764605CSW8

Molly flattened the blueprint across the sticky diner table. "We’re hitting a birthday party, Bill. A bunch of five-year-olds with glitter and terrible security." Bill stirred his coffee with a plastic spoon. "You want me to rob children?" "Not the children. The presents. There’s a mountain of them. I saw the Instagram. Unicorn wrapping paper. One box is big enough to hide a body." "I don’t do unicorns." "You do now. The guest list says forty kids. Forty sets of grandparents bringing LEGO and bicycles." Bill leaned back. "We need a plan that doesn’t involve crying." "Phase one: we pose as entertainers. You’re the magician. I’m the balloon artist." "I can’t do balloons." "You twist one into a dog and panic. Perfect cover." Bill sighed. "What’s my magician name?" "Bill the Bewildering." "That sounds like a digestive issue." "Exactly. Memorable. You wear the cape I stole from the community theater." "The one with the bloodstain?" "Fake blood, Bill. It’s thematic." "I still think we should wait outside with a sack." "Too obvious. The parents are armed with phones and judgment. We go inside, mingle, and during the cake song we clear the gift table." "While they sing?" "While they’re distracted by sugar and flame. You handle the back door. I load the van." Bill scratched his neck. "What if a kid asks for a trick?" "Pull a quarter from behind their ear and steal their hope. No, actually, do a card trick. Then palm the present." "I don’t know cards." "Then pull a present from behind their ear. You’re a magician." "I’m a burglar with a cape." "Semantics." Molly tapped the map. "The party starts at two. We arrive at one-forty-five. You set up in the corner near the bouncy castle." "There’s a bouncy castle?" "Yes. You avoid it. Last time you bounced, you broke a fence and a promise to your mother." "She never trusted me." "She was wise. The gifts are stacked behind the cake table. I want them in trash bags by two-fifteen." "Trash bags? Classy." "We’re not wrapping them, Bill. We’re fleeing." "How do we exit without forty toddlers tackling us?" "We announce we’re leaving for another show. Emotional goodbye. Maybe you cry a little." "I can do real tears." "Save them for the judge. Once we’re clear, we drive to the fence. I already talked to Gary." "Gary the fence who smells like onions?" "He’s expanding into toys. He’ll take everything except the glitter slime. Nobody moves that." Bill nodded slowly. "What if the parents recognize us?" "You’re wearing sunglasses and a fake mustache." "Inside? At a toddler party?" "It’s avant-garde." "And you?" "I’m wearing a wig and a name tag that says Aunt Carol." "Who’s Carol?" "Nobody. That’s the point." Bill drank the last of his coffee. "This is the stupidest job we’ve ever planned." "That’s why it’ll work. Nobody expects thieves to have this little dignity." "Or this much fear of children." "Children are just short adults with sticky hands and no concept of private property. Perfect witnesses—too distracted, too loud." "So we’re relying on chaos." "We’re relying on cake. Once that sugar hits, those kids will be vibrating. Parents will be negotiating nap times. That’s our window." Bill stood up and adjusted his imaginary cape. "Bill the Bewildering, at your service." "Try not to bewilder yourself into a wall." "I’ll bring the trash bags." "And leave the unicorn paper intact. Gary likes presentation." "Even stolen goods need aesthetics?" "Especially stolen goods, Bill. We’re not animals." "We’re just adults stealing from children." "We’re redistributing joy, Bill. To ourselves." Bill grabbed his jacket. "Let’s go buy a fake mustache that doesn’t itch." "Already in the glove box. Next to the handcuffs you never returned." "Those are decorative." Molly smiled. "See you at the bouncy castle. Don’t bounce." "Not a chance. I’m terrified of fun."