Run: 2026-09-23-01M36P3CFWFH4EVDRR02T2D4Q9

“Children’s parties,” Molly said, unfolding a napkin on the café table, “are the perfect place to steal presents.” Bill studied the napkin. “You’ve drawn a cake.” “It’s a planning diagram.” “It has candles.” “Those indicate danger.” “They indicate birthday.” Molly tapped the paper. “We arrive during the excitement, collect every wrapped gift, and disappear before anyone notices.” “Children notice everything. Last week one spotted me eating a biscuit from across a park.” “You were holding the biscuit.” “He had excellent instincts.” Molly lowered her voice. “We need a disguise.” “Clown?” “Too memorable.” “Magician?” “Too suspicious.” “Uncle?” Molly paused. “That’s disturbingly plausible.” Bill leaned back. “I could wear a cardigan and say, ‘How you’ve grown.’” “No one at a children’s party has grown. That’s why they’re children.” The café door opened, and a small girl marched in carrying a cardboard crown. Her parents followed, balancing a lopsided cake. Bill watched them. “Is that the party?” “Not unless the celebration is for surviving public transportation.” The girl stopped at their table. “Are you the people stealing the presents?” Molly froze. Bill looked at his hands. “Why would you think that?” Molly asked. “Because you’re talking about stealing presents.” Bill nodded. “She has excellent instincts.” The girl pointed at Molly’s napkin. “That’s not a map. It’s a cake with a weather forecast.” Molly glanced down. A smear of coffee had spread across the candles. “It’s raining.” “Are you bad people?” the girl asked. “Professionally,” Bill said. Molly kicked him under the table. “Only in a broad, theatrical sense,” she said. “We’re reconsidering.” The girl climbed onto the empty chair. “My birthday’s next week. I don’t want anyone stealing my presents.” “Of course not,” said Molly. “Then why are you planning it?” “Because,” Bill said, “we’re very bad at choosing hobbies.” The girl considered this. “You could help with the party instead.” Bill frowned. “What would that involve?” “Carrying things. Making balloon animals. Keeping my cousin away from the frosting.” Molly folded the napkin. “That sounds like a complicated operation.” “It’s harder than stealing presents,” the girl said. “The balloons keep escaping.” Bill looked at Molly. “She’s got us there.” “We’d need a team,” Molly said. “A distraction.” “I can sing,” said the girl. “Too powerful,” Bill replied. “We’d attract the entire neighborhood.” Her father set the cake down. “You two know each other?” “Not yet,” Molly said. “We’re applying for work.” The girl handed Bill her cardboard crown. “You can be the balloon person.” He placed it on his head. It fit badly and gave him the solemn appearance of a king who had lost a small war. Molly sighed. “So we’re not stealing the presents?” “No,” Bill said. “We’re guarding them.” “From whom?” He glanced at the girl. She grinned. “My cousin.” Molly stood. “Then we’ll need a plan.” Bill picked up the cake diagram. “Finally, a job with candles.” “They’re danger indicators,” Molly reminded him. “Good,” he said. “I’m excellent with danger.” The girl took his hand and led him toward the door. “First, you have to learn the balloon animals.” Bill looked back at Molly. “If I make a giraffe, does it count as a getaway vehicle?” “Only if it’s very fast,” she said. The cardboard crown slid over his eyes. “Then I may need a smaller horse.”