Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NHBJR3Z0PYQJ8HKY8YWV8

Molly spread the party invitation across the laundromat table. It showed a cartoon dinosaur wearing a crown and announced, in purple glitter, that Toby was turning six. Beside it sat a floor plan she had drawn from memory, though the building was actually a bakery and her plan included a suspicious lake. “Presents arrive before the children,” she said. “We slip in, blend with the grown-ups, and leave with every box.” Bill examined the invitation. “Do we know Toby?” “No.” “Does Toby know us?” “Not yet.” “Good. I hate disappointing people I’ve met.” Molly tapped the plan. “The presents will be stacked near the cake. We enter as entertainers, collect the gifts, and vanish.” “What kind of entertainers?” “The sort who don’t require talent.” “So, magicians.” “Exactly.” Bill nodded solemnly. He had once performed a card trick at a retirement home and accidentally made a resident’s dentures disappear. He had never found them, but the audience had been delighted. Molly produced two striped jackets from her bag. They were the sort of jackets magicians wore in old cartoons, complete with tails and shiny buttons. Bill tried his on. A button popped off and bounced beneath the table. “If anyone asks,” Molly said, “we’re the Amazing Molls and Bill.” “That sounds like a law firm that specializes in rabbits.” “Then don’t let anyone ask.” They rehearsed their entrance. Molly would announce a spectacular illusion while Bill distracted the adults with a coin trick. Then, during the applause, they would gather the presents. “What if the children are watching?” Bill asked. “They’ll be watching the magic.” “What if the magic is bad?” “Then they’ll be watching us leave.” Bill practiced palming a coin. It slipped from his fingers, rolled off the table, and landed in a bowl of soup belonging to the laundromat owner. From behind the counter came a sigh. Molly lowered her voice. “We need a better distraction.” “I could tell them the story of my life.” “That’s not a distraction. That’s a hostage situation.” Bill looked again at the invitation. A small note at the bottom said, “Please bring one unwrapped book for the children’s reading corner.” He turned the card over, as if the back might explain why a six-year-old needed so many presents. “Maybe we should bring a book,” he said. “We’re stealing the presents.” “I know. But it seems rude to arrive empty-handed.” Molly stared at him. Bill’s expression was earnest, which was inconvenient; earnestness had ruined several of their better schemes. She folded the floor plan and tucked it away. “Fine. We go in, perform one trick, and leave the gifts alone.” “Then what do we steal?” “The cake.” “From a children’s party?” “Only a slice.” Bill considered this. “That’s not a heist. That’s catering.” “It’s a start.” On the invitation’s blank edge, Molly wrote: Bring book. Wear hats. Do not rob Toby. She added a little dinosaur beside it, wearing a crown. Bill picked up the card. “You’ve given the dinosaur a mustache.” “He looked suspicious.” “Perhaps he’s planning to steal all the presents.” Molly pocketed the invitation. “Then we’ll keep an eye on him.” Outside, the bakery’s paper dinosaur bobbed in the window, smiling at passersby. Bill tipped his hat to it. For the first time in years, he was going to a party without a getaway plan. He still brought a sack. It was for the books, he explained. Molly didn’t believe him, but she brought one too.