Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KA279GVPY80N3DFF5Z9SJP

Molly tapped the steering wheel. “Okay, so we hit the bouncy castle first?” Bill squinted at the inflatable dinosaur in the backyard beyond the hedge. “No. Bouncy castle is chaos central. Too many toddlers, too much static electricity. We go straight for the gift table.” “The gift table is right next to the juice bar. You know how moms guard the juice bar like it’s the Crown Jewels.” “That’s why we’re in costume. I’m a magician. You’re a face painter. We’re invisible.” Molly looked down at her rainbow suspenders and bucket of glitter glue. “I can’t paint a butterfly to save my life. A kid asks for a unicorn, I’m done.” “Just tell them it’s abstract. Kids love that. Now focus. The presents are in shiny bags, right? We can’t just grab armfuls and sprint. We need a plan.” “A plan? You said this was easy. ‘Molly, it’s a party. We waltz in, take the loot, waltz out.’ Now there’s waltzing?” “Waltzing is still on the table if the DJ plays the chicken song. Listen. The bags are wrapped in tissue paper. We can’t see what’s inside. We need intel.” Molly sighed. “You want me to chat up a seven-year-old. I’m not proud of that.” “You won’t be. You’ll be asking where the bathroom is, and you’ll glance at the gift table. The big ones are likely closest to the wall. Lego sets. Maybe a robot dog.” “I hate robot dogs.” “Everyone hates robot dogs. That’s why we steal them. Now, here’s the distraction. I pull a rabbit from a hat. I don’t have a rabbit. I have a corn dog from the gas station. It’s in my sleeve.” Molly stared. “You’re going to pull a corn dog from a hat at a children’s party?” “Kids love snacks. They’ll go nuts. While they’re fighting over the corn dog, you load the wagon.” “What wagon?” “The one in the back of the van. I spray-painted it to look like a birthday cake shaped like a train. It’s not great, but at a distance it reads as festive.” Molly buried her face in her hands. “We’re stealing presents from preschoolers in a cake wagon.” Bill shrugged. “It’s a niche. Look, these parents spend six hundred dollars on a bounce house and artisan cupcakes. They won’t notice a few missing bags until the piñata breaks. By then we’re gone.” “And if someone asks where the presents went?” “We blame the clown. There’s always a clown. Nobody trusts a clown.” Molly exhaled. “Fine. But we’re not taking the homemade sweaters. Grandma knitted those with love, and I’ve got a conscience shaped like a crochet hook.” “Deal. No sweaters. Only commercial toys.” “And no candy. Candy is for the kids.” “Molly. We’re thieves, not monsters.” A beat. “Can we at least grab one slice of cake on the way out?” Bill grinned. “Now you’re talking crime.”