Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2M2MWYTM0BF353FP9GC7Y

Molly crouched behind the hedge with binoculars she had borrowed from a bird-watching club she'd never joined. Across the lawn, forty-three children in paper crowns shrieked around a bouncy castle shaped like a unicorn's rear end, a design choice she felt someone should answer for. Bill wriggled in beside her, leaf-covered and wheezing. He had insisted on wearing a full ghillie suit, though the party was in a suburban cul-de-sac and the nearest forest was two counties away. "You look like a haystack that lost a fight," Molly whispered. "Camouflage is camouflage," Bill said. "Status report?" "The presents are on a folding table under a gazebo. About sixty boxes. One guard." "Armed?" "With a juice box. It's a grandmother named Doreen." Bill swallowed. "I've heard of Doreen. She once tackled a magician." "Which is why we stay away from her. At two o'clock the clown arrives, and every child runs to him. Doreen gets distracted by the cake. We slip in, load the wheelbarrow, and leave." "Why a wheelbarrow?" "Because sixty presents won't fit in your pockets, Bill." He patted his suit sadly. "They might." Molly lowered the binoculars. Twenty years of stealing jewelry, a minor Rembrandt, and once an entire dumpling truck, and here she was, planning to rob a seven-year-old named Trevor. But the tip had been good. Trevor's father was a hedge fund man who had ruined half the town's pensions, and the gift table allegedly held a signed baseball, a drone, and a pony voucher. "Are we sure about the ethics?" Bill asked, as if reading her mind. "The presents are ill-gotten. Technically, we're redistributing." "To who?" "To us, Bill. Obviously to us." At two o'clock precisely, a battered van coughed to a stop and a clown in an enormous orange wig tumbled out. The children screamed and stampeded. Doreen turned toward the cake, knife raised like a Viking's. "Go," Molly hissed. They dashed across the lawn, Bill rustling like a small moving compost heap. Molly snatched a wheelbarrow from beside the garden shed, and they began stacking boxes with the practiced choreography of professionals. Each one was wrapped in balloons and glitter, and each was heavier than the last. Then a small voice said, "Are you the entertainment?" Molly froze. Trevor stood there in a cape, holding a plastic sword. Bill, thinking fast, rose and rustled dramatically. "I am the Bush Wizard." Trevor's eyes widened. "Can you do magic?" "Yes," said Bill. "Watch as these presents vanish." "Bill," Molly muttered. "Awesome!" Trevor shouted, spinning toward the crowd. "The bush is making my presents disappear!" Forty-three children cheered. Doreen looked up, cake knife glinting, and began to run. "Wheelbarrow," Molly said calmly. "Now."