Run: 2026-10-08-01M4E07GKXMWZ703JDW40YQWDT

Molly crouched behind the privet hedge outside Maple Hall, clipboard balanced on one knee. Beside her, Bill wore a fake moustache that kept sliding toward his left nostril. Through a gap in the leaves, they could see balloons, bunting, a bouncy castle, and a trestle table groaning under a mountain of presents. "Run it again," she whispered. "Phase one, we blend in," Bill said. "I'm the dad. You're the entertainer." "I'm wearing a lanyard that says ENTERTAINER. That's blending in." "Phase two, we slip through the side gate during pass the parcel." "And when the music stops?" "We move. Silently. Like professionals." "Phase three?" "Grab every present on that table." "Every single one," Molly said. "No ponies." "The pony is the best one." "Ponies are heavy and they neigh, Bill. We agreed." "It's a unicorn, technically." "Bill." He sighed. "Fine. No unicorns." Across the lawn, the bouncy castle wobbled under the weight of screaming children. Somewhere, a man dressed as a giant banana was losing a limbo contest very badly. "What about the grandmother?" Bill asked. "The one with the whistle?" "Avoid the grandmother. Never make eye contact with the grandmother. She has already blown that whistle at a child who breathed too loudly." "And the clown?" "Don't look at the clown." "What if he looks at me?" "Then you wave, you smile, and you keep walking. Nobody suspects a man waving at a clown." "That's exactly what a suspect would do." "Do we have a signal?" "Two taps on the clipboard means abort." "And one tap?" "Keep going." Molly tucked the clipboard under her arm and stood, her knees cracking like a pair of stale biscuits. Bill produced a giant laundry bag printed with cartoon rabbits and held it up like a trophy. "Is the loot bag ready?" she asked. "Do we need a getaway car?" "We have a van." "It's Dave's van." "Dave lent us the van." "Dave doesn't know he lent us the van." "Then we'll return it before he notices. Same as last time." "Last time the goat got loose." "The goat had its own agenda." Bill nodded gravely, as though the goat had a point. They crept along the fence line, keeping low. The presents waited beneath a banner reading HAPPY 7TH, MARCUS!, wrapped in dinosaur paper and glittery stars, one of them unmistakably pony-shaped. A piñata shaped like a dragon hung from a branch, looking nervous. "Remember," Molly whispered, "nobody, and I mean nobody, gets hurt." "Nobody," Bill agreed. "Except the piñata." The music stopped. Thirty children shrieked, the grandmother's whistle blew, and that was their cue. Molly and Bill rose from the shadows together, moving silently, like professionals, until the clown spun around and pointed directly at them. Bill waved. Enthusiastically. With both hands. The moustache flew off, sailed across the lawn, and landed on a toddler, who immediately declared it his. Molly closed her eyes. "Keep walking, Bill." "I am walking." "You're waving." "I'm walking and waving," he whispered. "Professionals do both."