Run: 2026-09-23-01M36P1Z8M5D8A9HM0Y0X8R06D

Molly unfolded the map across the hood of their getaway car. A purple crayon sun smiled from the corner, and someone had drawn a dinosaur eating a birthday cake directly over the house they intended to rob. “Your map is upside down,” Bill said. “It’s a child’s drawing. It has no dependable orientation.” “The front door is at the bottom.” “Perhaps the house is lying down.” Bill squinted at the map, then at the cheerful suburban home across the street. Streamers fluttered from its porch. A banner announced HAPPY SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, LEO, while a balloon shaped like a giraffe strained against its string. “Our target,” Molly whispered, “is the mountain of presents beneath that banner.” “Our target,” Bill whispered back, “is a room full of children, parents, and at least one giraffe.” “Not a real giraffe.” “Have you checked?” Molly lowered a pair of binoculars. Through the front window, a dozen children sprinted around the living room, fueled by cake and what appeared to be unlimited access to juice boxes. Parents occupied the perimeter, smiling the strained smiles of people who had already cleaned frosting out of a lamp. “We go in disguised as entertainers,” she said. Bill touched the red nose in his pocket. “You said no clowns.” “I said no clown makeup. This is clown equipment.” “That’s like saying, ‘I’m not wearing a bear costume, I’m just wearing the bear.’” Molly produced two paper crowns from her coat. One said PRINCESS; the other, KING OF FARTS. “Which one do I wear?” Bill asked. “Don’t be greedy. You can switch at halftime.” They approached the house carrying a gift-wrapped box. Inside it was a smaller box, and inside that, a brick. It was the sort of present Bill considered practical. At the front step, Molly pressed the doorbell. A woman opened the door. “Oh, the magician! You’re early.” “Terribly sorry,” Molly said. “We’re the—” “Magician and assistant,” Bill cut in, bowing. “She’s the magician. I’m the assistant.” Molly gave him a look. “He’s the assistant because he can’t do magic.” “I can make a sandwich disappear.” “Not while it’s still on the plate.” The woman waved them inside. “Leo loves magic. Presents are in the dining room. Please don’t let the kids eat the rabbits.” “Are there rabbits?” Bill whispered. “There are always rabbits,” Molly whispered back. They slipped toward the dining room, where brightly wrapped gifts formed a tower beside the cake. Molly reached for the largest box. A small boy blocked her. “Are you the magician?” “Absolutely,” Molly said. “Make my uncle disappear.” From the kitchen came a man’s voice: “I heard that, Leo!” Molly lifted a playing card. “Watch closely.” While every child leaned in, Bill quietly slid two presents into a laundry basket. The basket had been left beside the table, apparently for party favors. He tucked a third gift beneath his jacket, where it gave him the silhouette of a particularly anxious turtle. “Ta-da!” Molly announced, producing a coin from behind the boy’s ear. “That’s not magic,” he said. “That’s where coins go.” Bill froze as Leo studied the bulge under his coat. “Are you stealing the presents?” “Of course not,” Bill said. “I’m checking them for safety.” “Can you check mine?” Leo asked, pointing to a blue box. Molly snatched it up. “This one contains a dangerous surprise.” The children gasped. “It’s socks,” Bill said. Molly sighed. “And that is why I’m the magician.” From the living room, the parents began singing “Happy Birthday.” Molly and Bill exchanged a glance, then carried the laundry basket toward the back door. “Operation Present Escape,” Molly murmured. “Do we have a plan?” “Bill, we have a basket.” “Finally,” he said. “A plan with handles.” Then the back door opened, and a grandmother stepped in holding another tray of cupcakes. Molly smiled brightly. “Would you like to see a trick?” “Only if it makes my knees disappear,” the grandmother said. Bill set down the basket. “We can start with the presents.”