Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BJTM1AW2B7SV3YX1P3EGB

Molly spread the birthday invitation across their kitchen table, flattening a unicorn with her thumb. “Saturday. Two o’clock. We enter as entertainers, locate the presents, and depart before anyone notices.” “Entertainers? I can barely entertain myself.” “That’s why you’re the magician. Disappointment is traditional in that particular field these days.” Bill studied the invitation with professional suspicion, then turned it upside down for additional suspicion. “It says no clowns.” “Excellent. We’re criminals with standards.” “It also says parents must stay.” “Then we bring parents.” “Mine are dead.” “Borrow some.” “From where?” “The garden center. Everyone there looks disappointed in somebody.” Their cat climbed onto the table and sat squarely over the address, declining moral involvement. “We need disguises.” “I have a cape.” “You have a bathrobe with ambitions.” “It has stars.” “Those are bleach stains.” “The children won’t know.” “Children know everything, Bill. They can smell fraud and supermarket cake.” Molly opened her notebook, revealing a floor plan that resembled an emotionally troubled potato instead. “Here’s the house.” “Why does it have tentacles?” “Those are hallways.” “And that?” “The gift table.” “That says gravy.” “I reused my Christmas notes.” “Are we stealing gravy?” “Only if it’s already wrapped and labeled.” Bill produced a suitcase, which opened with the exhausted sigh of something accustomed to disappointment. “All the presents fit in here.” “That’s a violin case.” “An optimistic violin case.” “What if there’s a bicycle?” “We say it’s a cello.” “What if there’s a trampoline?” “Then we admit music has changed.” Outside, rain tapped the window while Molly considered whether professional criminals ought to possess insurance. “Have you ever attended a children’s party?” “Once.” “What happened?” “A girl named Poppy made me cry.” “How old was she?” “Six.” “How old were you?” “Thirty.” “Right. No arguing with anybody wearing plastic royalty.” She added a crown to the potato diagram, then crossed it out with unnecessary violence. “We need an exit strategy.” “I shout abracadabra and disappear.” “You can’t disappear.” “Not with that attitude.” “Last time you hid behind a curtain, your shoes showed.” “Those were decoy shoes.” “They contained your feet.” Bill removed a rubber chicken from his pocket and placed it beside their inadequate suitcase. “This is our distraction.” “A chicken?” “A trained chicken.” “It’s rubber.” “Very obedient.” “What does it do?” “Nothing until squeezed.” “So do I.” “Exactly. We understand each other. That’s the foundation of any successful partnership.” Molly squeezed the chicken; its shriek startled the cat into resigning from the planning committee. “What if the birthday child notices?” “We tell him we’re present inspectors.” “And he believes us?” “Adults believe parking inspectors.” “Children have better lawyers.” “Who?” “Mothers.” “Ah.” “Yes.” “That could complicate our entire legal position.” For a moment they contemplated honest employment, a possibility neither felt emotionally prepared to discuss. “Whose party is this anyway?” “My nephew’s.” “Your nephew?” “He requested criminals.” “Instead of clowns?” “Apparently.” “So we’re invited?” “No.” “And the presents?” “His mother bought educational toys.” “Then we’re performing a humanitarian rescue operation.”