Run: 2026-09-23-01M37P9H80WJA162XZEAZJABAZ

Molly unrolled the blueprint across Bill's kitchen table, pinning the corners with a mug, a stapler, and a half-eaten sausage roll. "This," she said, "is the Pemberton residence. Saturday, two o'clock. Little Oliver turns seven." Bill squinted at it. "That's a crayon drawing of a house." "It's the best I could get. The planning office was closed, so I asked a kid at the bus stop." "There's a dragon on the roof." "He said it's accurate." Bill leaned back, and the chair creaked in protest. In twenty-two years of thieving, nobody had ever asked him to rob a birthday party, and he wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or relieved. Relieved, probably. Banks had guards. Birthday parties had, at worst, an uncle with a camcorder. "Walk me through it," he said. Molly produced a laser pointer, which was unnecessary because the table was two feet wide, and aimed it at a purple scribble. "Gift table. Back garden, next to the bouncy castle. Intel says forty presents minimum. Oliver's mum is very popular at Pilates." "And how do we get in?" "We're the entertainment." She dropped a bag in front of him. A red nose rolled out and bounced twice. Bill stared at it. "No." "You'll be Bongo the Clown." "Molly, I have a record. I have a reputation. Men in three counties fear me." "Men in three counties have never seen you juggle. Which is good, because you can't." He picked up the nose between two fingers as though it might be evidence. "And what are you going to be?" "A fairy princess. Glitter, wings, the lot. I distract the parents with face painting while you lead the kids in musical statues. When the music stops, everyone freezes, and you load the presents into the balloon van." "We have a balloon van?" "We have a van. I'm going to tape balloons to it." Outside, a dog barked. Bill considered the peculiar route his life had taken to arrive at this kitchen, this crayon map, this nose. "What if the kids notice?" "They're seven. They'll be full of sugar and fizzy pop. You could steal the house and they'd only notice if the bouncy castle went with it." "And the parents?" "Adults at children's parties see nothing. They stand in a circle holding warm prosecco, praying for five o'clock. It's the most unguarded environment in Britain." Bill had to admit there was a certain criminal elegance to it. He rolled the nose between his palms, weighing it like a diamond. "One problem," he said. "What's actually in the presents? Could be forty packets of felt tips." Molly smiled slowly, the smile she normally saved for vaults. "Oliver's grandfather owns a toy company. Limited edition robots. Collectors pay thousands." Bill sighed, and then he put the nose on. It squeaked. "Fine," he said. "But I'm not making balloon animals." "You're making balloon animals." "I'm making one balloon animal." "You're making a giraffe, Bill, and you're going to like it."