Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C67NZY7M3XE8DD1EMTQ26K

Molly unfolded the birthday invitation on the crate between them. “Right, Bill. Timmy Wexler’s seventh birthday, Saturday, two o’clock, forty guests, and a mountain of presents.” Bill squinted at the clown on the card. “A clown? I hate clowns. They hide things in their trousers.” Molly tapped the photo of a bouncy castle. “Focus. We’re not here for the clown. We’re here for the loot. Lego, remote-control cars, gift cards, maybe a scooter.” Bill scratched his chin. “Children’s party. That’s low, even for us.” “Low? It’s perfect. Security is a mum. The vault is the present table. The getaway is a bouncy castle.” “The bouncy castle’s a trap. You bounce, lose a shoe, you’re nicked.” Molly drew a tiny map on a napkin. “Then we use the magician’s vanishing box. He leaves it unattended while he does the rabbit thing.” Bill sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s the cover? We can’t walk in as two adults with the charm of a bailiff.” “I’m the balloon artist. You’re the birthday dad.” “I look nothing like Timmy’s dad.” Molly grinned. “Nobody looks at the dad. They look at the cake. That’s the beauty.” “And the kids? Kids notice everything. Last week a six-year-old asked why my eyebrows were running away.” “Wear the moustache. Kids trust a moustache. It says responsible entertainer with a van.” Bill paced beside the van. “What’s the plan for the presents?” “Simple. You cause a distraction during Happy Birthday. I slip behind the table, load the presents into the magician’s box, and wheel it out while everyone’s singing.” “Singing? I sound like a gate opening.” “Then don’t sing. Cry loudly. Tell them you’ve got something in your eye. A wasp. An emotional memory.” “While I’m crying, you’re stealing a scooter from a seven-year-old.” “From a seven-year-old with forty presents and no concept of property law. We’re practically Robin Hood.” “Robin Hood gave things back.” “We’ll give back the wrapping paper.” Molly held up a fake moustache. “What about the parents?” “Parents are easy. Offer prosecco. Say it’s from the entertainer. They’ll be judging gift bags, not us.” “And if the clown sees us?” “Clowns are legally blind. It’s in the union rules.” Bill nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m in. But I’m not wearing the moustache.” “You’re wearing the moustache, Bill.” “Fine. But if a child asks why the birthday dad is stealing their Lego, I’m blaming you.” Molly folded the napkin. “Fair. Now practise the cry. We need something convincing, not a toddler meltdown.” Bill stared at the moustache. Molly flipped the invitation over and pointed at the back. Bill lifted a plastic party hat from the crate and frowned. Molly underlined present table three times. Bill examined a child’s drawing of a security guard. Molly checked the van’s back doors. Bill rubbed his temples. Molly adjusted her cap. Bill counted on his fingers. Molly checked the clock on the wall. Bill glanced at the moustache again. Bill stuffed the party hat into his jacket. Molly folded the map.