Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BNWD2398ERJS8QKK9SGEG

Molly spread a crayon drawing across the diner table. It showed a house, a smiling sun, and something that might have been a dog or an exploding potato. Bill leaned over it, careful not to put his elbow in the syrup. “That’s the target,” Molly said. “Birthday party. Saturday. Twenty children, thirty presents. We go in empty-handed and come out looking like Christmas had a custody dispute.” “Why is the house purple?” “Because I borrowed the crayons from a witness.” “Is the witness reliable?” “She’s six. She described the security system as ‘a mean goose,’ which I think we should take seriously.” Bill turned the drawing sideways. He had once cracked a hotel safe with a stethoscope, three paper clips, and remarkable patience. Unfortunately, it had belonged to the hotel’s magician, and everything inside was scarves. He still carried one for emergencies. “What’s our cover?” he asked. “Parents? I can do disappointed father. I’ve got the eyebrows.” “No. Entertainers. You’re a magician, I’m your assistant. We arrive with an enormous box, announce a disappearing-present trick, and leave before anyone asks how it works.” “That’s theft with a bow tie.” “All theft should have a bow tie. It reassures people.” “What if they want me to perform?” “Pull something out of a hat.” “Last time I tried that, the rabbit bit the vicar.” “That was a ferret, Bill.” “It was dark inside the hat.” Molly produced an invitation from her coat. Glitter drifted onto the table between them. Bill brushed a speck from his sleeve, missed it, and tried again. The invitation smelled faintly of strawberry lip balm and looked entirely beyond his professional experience. “Whose birthday is it?” “Oliver’s. Age seven. Theme: pirates.” “Pirates? Molly, that’s competition.” “It’s children wearing cardboard hats.” “And adults pretending piracy is charming. We spend years developing a brand, and suddenly everybody gets an eyepatch.” “We’ll fit right in. You already limp.” “That’s an occupational injury.” “You fell off a coin-operated pony.” “It bucked.” For a moment they studied the heap of presents pictured beside the purple house. Bill reached for the invitation, then stopped to clean syrup from his fingers. Molly watched him read the bottom line twice. She put down her pencil. “What?” she said. “It says, ‘Please bring donations for the animal shelter instead of gifts.’” “Donations can be valuable.” “Dog blankets, Molly. Squeaky toys. Possibly kibble. We’ll be the only burglars in town whose getaway car attracts Labradors.” “We could sell the blankets.” “To whom? Cold dogs?” “I hadn’t got that far.” Bill slid the invitation back. “My sister adopted a dog from that shelter. He sleeps on an old bath mat.” Molly rubbed out the arrow marked EXIT WITH LOOT. “We’ve already rented the magician’s costume,” she said. “So we do the party.” “For free?” “I’ll bring the scarf.” “And I’ll buy a blanket. One blanket. Nobody starts calling us generous.” “What about the goose?” “We ask whether it’s on the guest list.” Bill nodded. “I’m not sharing a dressing room with another bird.”