Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HCE1NQX7DMDXTYEVF6QK8

Molly flattened the invitation against the café table. “Saturday, two o’clock. Presents in the living room.” Bill leaned over it. “You got an invitation?” “The birthday girl handed one to every customer at the bakery. I bought a bun.” “Expensive reconnaissance.” “It had icing. Now, we go in with the other parents, wait for cake, then carry the presents out through the kitchen.” “All of them?” “That’s what the client paid for.” “What client hires us to rob a children’s party?” “One who insisted on anonymity.” Bill studied the invitation. “Molly, why does it say ‘No gifts, please’?” “People always bring them anyway.” “And why is the birthday girl turning forty?” “Because you’re holding it upside down.” “I’m not. Look. ‘Fortieth birthday party for Mr. Pickles.’” Molly snatched the card. “Mr. Pickles is the dog. The child is four.” “Then why does it say ‘Please bring a present for the shelter’?” They looked at each other. “We’re stealing donations,” Bill said. Molly reached for her phone. “I’m calling the client.” “Put it on speaker.” A man answered. “Did you get the invitation?” “Who are you?” Molly asked. “Mr. Pickles’s owner. The shelter refused my old sofa. I want revenge.” Bill pushed back his chair. “We’re not doing it.” “Fine,” said Molly. “But I’m keeping the bun.”