Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HY7VA0ANMR9JMQ6K9F539

The community hall glowed with paper lanterns, and its windows shook to the rhythm of a song about a dancing potato. From behind a hedge across the street, Molly studied the children’s party through binoculars with one lens missing. Bill held a clipboard upside down. “The presents are under the cake table,” Molly said. “I see them. Why are we behind a hedge?” “Professional discretion.” “You’re wearing a shirt that says ASK ME ABOUT CRIME.” “It was on sale.” Bill checked the invitation they had found pinned to the hall door. It featured a crayon drawing of a dragon, three balloons, and the words EVERYONE WELCOME. The birthday child was turning seven. Molly had brought two empty sacks; Bill had brought a small wrapped parcel of his own, though he kept insisting it was a prop. “We go in as entertainers,” Molly said. “You distract them. I collect the presents.” “What’s my act?” “Mime.” “I can’t mime.” “Then it’ll be mercifully brief.” Across the street, a woman opened the hall door to admit a family carrying a box almost as big as their toddler. Bill watched them go in. He had once stolen a bronze horse from a hotel lobby without anybody noticing. This, somehow, made his stomach hurt. Molly lowered the binoculars. “Why have you wrapped a prop?” “It’s a toy.” “A toy prop?” “A toy for the birthday kid. We can’t arrive empty-handed.” “We’re leaving with everything.” “That’s why it’s good manners to bring one thing first.” The dancing-potato song ended. Through the window, a dozen children surged toward the cake table, then stopped when the woman clapped her hands. She lifted a cardboard box marked SHELTER COLLECTION. Each child picked up a present and dropped it inside. The pile under the table shrank with alarming speed. Molly grabbed Bill’s arm. “They’re moving the goods.” “They’re donating them.” “Without consulting us?” Bill squinted at the invitation again. On the back, in small print beneath a smear of icing, it said: No gifts for me, please! Bring a present for kids at the shelter. Molly read over his shoulder. For a moment neither thief spoke. A balloon escaped through the open door and floated toward the hedge. “So,” Bill said, “do we steal them from the shelter instead?” Molly gave him a look so sharp he tucked the invitation into his pocket. “I was checking,” he said. “Check something useful. Is my hair party-appropriate?” Bill considered the dark hood, the streak of mud on her cheek, and the two suspiciously roomy sacks. “For a haunted-house party, absolutely.” Molly folded the sacks and stuffed them beneath the hedge. Then she took Bill’s wrapped toy and crossed the street. He followed, straightening his upside-down clipboard. At the hall door, Molly paused while the potato song started again. “You know any party tricks?” she asked. Bill produced a coin from behind her ear. Molly took it, examined it, and slipped it into her pocket. “Terrible,” she said. “Show them that one.”