Run: 2026-09-23-01M36R3M2SX9ED9HP1M9TTB8HM

Rain ticked on the van’s windscreen, making the children’s party across the street look like a watercolor by someone fleeing a craft store. Through the windows, balloons bobbed above tiny guests, while brightly wrapped boxes crowded a table beneath a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELLIOT. Molly studied it through binoculars. Bill studied a laminated map of the community center, upside down. The van smelled of damp wool and Bill’s defeated getaway sandwich. Molly had circled the hall on a napkin, including a shrub that might have been a small horse. “The presents are in the gym,” Molly whispered. “Technically, they’re in a room adjacent to the gym, which is how I distinguish a plan from a felony.” “Bill, we are already discussing stealing presents from a children’s party. The felony has arrived wearing a party hat.” “I brought disguises.” “Those are two adult-sized pirate costumes.” “Children respect pirates.” “Children respect cake. Pirates are mostly tolerated.” “What if we arrive as entertainers?” “We are not entertainers.” “I can juggle.” “You dropped a grapefruit and broke a lamp.” “The lamp was in the way.” “That is not how furniture works.” “Okay. We go in, smile, lift the gifts, and leave.” “Smile is good. Lift is bad. Leave is excellent.” “You’re making this sound like a civic meeting.” “Crime requires minutes.” “Then the children notice.” “We say we’re the gift auditors.” “Who hired gift auditors?” “Someone with a deep concern for wrapping paper.” Molly lowered the binoculars. Inside, a woman in a paper crown was arranging the presents in a neat row. Each had a name tag, a ribbon, and the air of a tiny, cherished hostage. Molly felt a faint pinch of conscience, which she blamed on the binoculars pressing against her nose. Bill unfolded his map. It was a seafood menu, with the gym marked beside “clam chowder.” He turned it over, then back, as if direction might improve the plan. At that moment, the side door opened and a little boy stepped out carrying a cardboard crown. He looked at the van. Molly and Bill ducked. Bill’s pirate hat slid over his eyes; Molly’s binoculars rolled under the brake pedal. Before either could recover, the boy returned with a woman in a paper crown. She peered through the windshield and waved. Apparently, the organizer had ordered entertainers, and two alarming strangers in pirate hats fit the description. Molly reached for the ignition; Bill reached for the door. Their hands collided. Five minutes later, they were inside, wearing paper plates as badges and assigned to watch the gift table while the organizer fetched cake. The children roared when Bill attempted a pirate bow and backed into a balloon arch. Molly guarded every present with professional vigilance, though a small guest had put a toy parrot on her shoulder and ordered her to say “squawk.” She did. Bill, tangled in balloons, whispered that the job was going well. Molly looked at the labeled gifts, then at the children waiting for cake, and decided that for once, the best getaway was leaving everything exactly where it was.