Run: 2026-09-10-01M25DMMHPY4FNRFHKH4381C31

The van smelled like wet clown and old pizza. Molly taped a crayon-stained map of Pump-N-Jump Party Palace to the dashboard while Bill wrestled himself into a rented badger costume. The head sat on the passenger seat, grinning like it knew about a custody battle. “Remind me why I’m the badger,” Bill said, one arm stuck in the tail. “Because the clown costume is doing the magic show, and the badger is doing the heavy lifting,” Molly said. “The badger is also doing the sweating.” “Focus. Party starts at two. Thirty kids, four parents, one exhausted teenager in a dinosaur suit. Presents pile up by the bouncy castle.” “Can’t we just grab a couple? A Lego set? Maybe the blender?” “We take all of them, Bill. Every ribbon, every card, every oddly shaped box that might contain socks.” “Kids will cry.” “That’s why we’re wearing earmuffs.” “I can’t hear crying with earmuffs.” “Exactly.” Bill finally extracted his arm. “So I waddle in as Barry the Badger, pretend to be entertainment, and while everyone watches you pull a rabbit out of a hat, I load the presents into the fake birthday cake?” “The cake is inflatable. You inflate it in the supply closet, then roll it out. Presents go inside. Van’s parked by the dumpster.” “And if a kid sees me stuffing a drone into a cake?” “You tell them it’s magic. Kids believe anything. Last week you told that boy his shoelaces were snakes, and he cried for an hour.” “That was performance art.” Molly checked her watch. “At two fifteen, you start the Hokey Pokey. At two twenty, I announce the Amazing Vanishing Presents. I distract with sparklers. You switch real gifts for decoy bags.” “Decoy bags full of what?” “Encyclopedias.” “Who gives kids encyclopedias?” “Nobody. That’s why they’ll be confused until we’re gone.” Bill scratched his badger chin. “What about parents?” “Two are gluten-free, one is arguing with the venue about parking, and the birthday mom is three mimosas in. We’re fine.” “And the kids?” “Short. Slow. Easily bribed with stickers.” “What if one recognizes me from the last party?” “You were a pirate then. Now you’re a badger. It’s called range.” He zipped up the costume. “I still think we should just take the blender.” “We are taking the blender. And the gift cards. And the one present that rattles suspiciously.” “What if it’s a puppy?” “Then we return it. We’re thieves, Bill, not monsters.” Bill paused. “What about the cake?” “The real cake?” “No, the inflatable one. If we put presents in it, what about the cake the kids eat?” Molly sighed. “The venue provides cake. We’re stealing presents, not dessert.” “Seems inefficient.” “Bill.” “Fine. But if there’s a pony in a box, I’m riding it out.” “Deal. Now put on the head. And remember, Barry the Badger loves children.” “I hate children.” “Barry loves children.” Bill lowered the badger head. “Barry also has a van and no alibi.” Molly pulled a glittery wand from her sleeve. “One more thing. If anyone asks, you’re Barry’s cousin, Sneezy the Badger. You have allergies.” “To what?” “To consequences.” Bill sniffed. “I don’t like that.” “Neither do I, but it’s on the costume rental receipt.” “Also,” Molly said, “if the magician asks why there are two badgers, we say one is a hologram.” “Kids don’t know what holograms are.” “Even better.” Molly started the engine. “That’s the spirit.”