Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2JYKM47Z0Z140TM11MY5F

The bouncy castle was shaped like a dragon, and Molly was fairly sure it was watching her. She lowered her binoculars and handed them to Bill, who crouched beside her in the hydrangeas wearing a paper crown. He insisted it was camouflage. She had stopped arguing forty minutes ago. "Twenty-two children," she whispered. "Four parents. One magician who is definitely drunk." "And the presents?" "Stacked by the patio. Taller than a toddler, shinier than my last three getaway cars." Bill squinted. "That's a lot of gift wrap. Ethically, I feel we should only take the good ones." "We're robbing a seven-year-old, Bill. Ethics left the van at the last exit." He nodded solemnly and straightened his crown. Across the lawn, a clown wrestled a balloon into the shape of a poodle. The balloon won. It burst, and three children began to wail in perfect harmony. "When the cake comes out, every eye goes to the candles," Molly said. "You take the wagon, I take the pile." "Why do I get the wagon? It's pink." "Because it's the only thing that can carry forty presents, and you're already wearing a tiara." "It's a crown." "It's sparkling, Bill." He touched it, wounded. Then a shrill voice rang out across the yard, announcing cake. The parents cheered, and the children stampeded toward the table like a herd of tiny, sugar-fueled wildebeest. "Go," Molly hissed. They moved during the second verse of the birthday song. Bill hauled the pink wagon across the grass, its left wheel squeaking like a dying mouse, while Molly slipped toward the mountain of presents. She stopped short. A small girl in a unicorn costume stood guard in front of it, arms folded. "You're not parents," the girl said. "We're entertainment," Molly said smoothly. "The magician's already here." "We're his backup," Bill offered. "Very high-level. Ask anyone." The girl studied his head. "That's my crown." Bill went pale. "Is it?" "Ten percent," she said. "Or I scream." Molly stared at her. Twenty years of thieving, and she had never been so proud or so terrified of another human being. "Five, and you keep the wagon." "Seven, and I keep the wagon." "Deal." They shook on it, palm to sticky palm. Behind them the candles were blown out to wild applause, and nobody noticed forty presents rolling quietly toward the hedge, pulled by a grown man in a tiara, squeaking all the way.