Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7B0FFKBE3T8M6X8M97THG

Molly crouched behind the privet hedge, binoculars trained on the McAllisters' back garden, where a bouncy castle swayed like a drunk giraffe. "Twenty-two presents, Bill. I counted. All wrapped, all unguarded, all sitting on a picnic table next to a clown." Bill peered through the hedge. "The clown's a problem." "The clown is a man in a wig named Gary who smells like crisps." "Gary's unpredictable, Molly. You don't know Gary's life." "Fine. New plan. We go in disguised." "As what?" Molly unzipped the duffel bag and produced two tutus, one tiara, and a fairy wand with a squeaky star. "No," Bill said. "You're a fairy godfather. It's thematic." "Molly, I'm six foot two with a moustache." "Fairy godfathers come in all shapes, Bill. It's a progressive neighbourhood." Bill held the tutu at arm's length like it might bite him. "And what do I do, sprinkle children?" "You distract. I grab. Standard snatch and dash, except the vault is a Peppa Pig gift bag." "What if someone asks which kid we're with?" "You're with Timothy." "Who's Timothy?" "There's always a Timothy. Nobody ever knows who Timothy belongs to. Timothy is a law of nature." Bill considered this. "That's actually sound." "Thank you. Now, the presents. Prioritize anything that rattles." "Rattles means cheap. Rattles means Lego knockoffs." "Rattles means easy to carry, Bill. We're not art thieves. We're present thieves. Manage your expectations." "What's the exit?" "Over the fence, through the Hendersons' garden, into the van." "The Hendersons have a dog." "The Hendersons have a pug. A pug, Bill. It will tire itself out barking and fall asleep mid-chase." "And if the clown clocks us?" "Then you do the thing." "I am not doing the thing." "You do the thing or we walk away with nothing but balloon animals." Bill sighed deeply, the sigh of a man who had done the thing before and would clearly do it again. "Fine. But if I juggle, you owe me." "I owe you nothing. You love juggling. You've juggled at three separate funerals." "Two. One was a wake." Molly shoved the tiara onto his head. "Right. We move in ten. Remember, you're excited about the party. You've been looking forward to this party all week." "I have?" "You're a fairy godfather who loves parties and definitely has a Timothy." Bill stood, tutu rustling ominously, and squared his shoulders. "Let's go rob a seven-year-old." "That's the spirit," Molly said, and together they marched toward the bouncy castle, heads high, dignity elsewhere.