Run: 2026-09-10-01M25DSGD3QRJ4STYGZ1X33RJZ

Rain had turned the Wexler backyard into a slick circus of screaming children and collapsing party hats. Molly crouched behind the hedge. Bill wore a clown wig, a red nose, and the expression of a man banned from three county fairs. Across the lawn, beneath a banner reading Happy Sixth Birthday, Tyler, a mountain of presents waited on a plastic table guarded by a piñata shaped like a sleepy unicorn. Molly checked her watch. "Two minutes." Bill peered through tiny binoculars. "I still say we should've brought the smoke bombs." "The smoke bombs are for funerals. We're stealing birthday presents." "Same emotional landscape." "Smoke bombs also work on clowns." "Only if aimed correctly." "That was one time." "Three times, Bill." She unfolded a crayon drawing of the house. The gift table sat beside the punch bowl. The side gate was blocked by a stroller the size of a parade float. A hired magician in a velvet cape was failing to impress a cluster of sugar-crazed six-year-olds. The plan required patience, timing, and a complete lack of dignity. Molly tapped the drawing. "You handle the piñata." Bill grinned. "I love piñatas." "You'll wear the blindfold and miss." "That's my specialty." "Your specialty is tripping over balloon animals." "Balloon animals are unpredictable." "So are you." "And you love me for it." "Debatable." "Debatable is a strong word." "It's the only word." A mother in a birthday sash marched past with cupcakes. Molly and Bill froze. The mother squinted at Bill. "Are you the clown?" Bill honked his nose. "Yep." The mother nodded and continued. Molly exhaled. "We're lucky she didn't ask for references," Molly whispered. "References are for people who get caught." "Unless you bribe the references." "References don't take cash." "Everything takes cash." The magician began a trick involving a dove and a handkerchief. The dove escaped. The magician chased it into the bouncy castle. This was the moment. Molly pulled a collapsible wagon from the hedge. Bill produced a sack decorated with rainbows. They crept toward the gift table. A toddler with cake on his face watched from a sandbox. Molly smiled. The toddler burst into tears. "Abort?" Bill asked. "Absolutely not." "Because the crying is drawing attention." "That's just Tyler's uncle." "Which one?" "The emotional one." They reached the table. Molly swept wrapped boxes into the sack while Bill distracted children with a balloon animal that looked like a giraffe undergoing an existential crisis. A girl pointed at the sack. "Is that Santa's?" Bill nodded. "Santa's intern." Molly hissed, "Less talking." Bill whispered, "More stealing." The wagon filled. The unicorn piñata wobbled. Then the magician returned, dove under one arm, and asked if they needed assistance. Molly kicked the wagon toward the side gate. Bill threw a cupcake. In the chaos, they escaped with forty presents, one cake, and a toddler's plastic crown. Behind them, the party continued, oblivious, except for one girl who told everyone Santa had hired a very nervous intern.