Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NPQQQ422RG5HVCA9B8CY5

Molly spread a crayon-drawn map across the laundromat table. It showed a cake, several balloons, and a large rectangle labeled PRESENTS, with an arrow pointing toward a stick figure wearing a crown. Bill studied it upside down, then rotated it. The crown remained upside down. “Your map has a moat,” he said. “That’s the punch bowl.” “And the dragon?” “Probably the birthday child.” “Then we’re dealing with a formidable opponent.” Bill adjusted his tie, which had tiny rubber ducks on it. Molly had insisted they dress “festively,” though his idea of festive was a tie he’d found under a sofa. Beside them sat a paper bag labeled PARTY PLAN, containing disguises, a kazoo, and one emergency cupcake. “You said this was a simple job,” Bill said. “It is. We enter the party, collect every present, and leave before anyone notices.” “What if someone notices?” “Then we’re the entertainment.” “I’ve never entertained anyone.” “You once sang ‘Happy Birthday’ in three keys.” “Those were all the wrong keys.” Molly tapped the map. The party was in a community hall, and the gifts would be stacked near the cake. She’d learned this from a flyer pinned outside the bakery. The flyer also promised face painting, musical chairs, and “surprise visitors,” a phrase she found needlessly threatening. “Surprise visitors could be police,” Bill said. “Or a magician.” “Magicians are worse. They make things disappear.” “We’re counting on that.” Bill opened the paper bag and examined the disguises: two oversized party hats and a feather boa. Molly picked up the boa and draped it around his neck. He looked like a nervous bird who’d just received bad news. “Who am I supposed to be?” he asked. “A glamorous aunt.” “I don’t know any glamorous aunts.” “Excellent. No one will recognize you.” Molly’s plan was to blend in, which Bill felt was difficult when neither of them knew the child’s name. She had written “Birthday Kid” on her palm as a reminder. Bill had written “Don’t eat evidence” on his. The cupcake sat between them like a tiny, frosted witness. “Suppose they ask how we know the family,” Bill said. “We’ll say we’re friends of the parents.” “What are their names?” “Parents.” “Convincing.” “Or we’ll say we’re here for the clown.” “Are we?” Molly glanced at the kazoo. “We are now.” They practiced a cheerful entrance. Molly waved with the confidence of a duchess. Bill waved with the caution of a man signaling a passing bus. The kazoo produced a sound like a duck trapped in a teapot. “Perfect,” Molly said. “That sounded like a plumbing emergency.” “Children love surprises.” “So do plumbers, when they’re billing by the hour.” For a moment, Molly stared at the map’s crooked party hats. She pictured a child opening an empty space where a present should be, and her smile faltered. Bill noticed. He nudged the cupcake toward her. “Maybe we don’t take the presents,” he said. “Then why bring the bag?” “For the cupcake.” “That’s not a heist.” “It could be a very small one.” Molly folded the map. “We go in, perform one kazoo song, and leave the gifts where they are.” “And the cupcake?” “We take it as a service fee.” At the hall, the door swung open before either could knock. A small girl in a paper crown looked up at them. “Are you the surprise visitors?” Molly bowed. Bill lifted the kazoo. “Absolutely,” he said. “We’re here to steal the show.” The girl pointed toward the cake. “Great. The clown’s late.” Bill sighed, tucked the cupcake into his pocket, and followed her inside. Molly marched after him, already planning their escape from musical chairs.