Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C6H5BSZ0FBKSVQ8A4291NJ

Molly parked the van behind a bouncy castle shaped like a dragon and cut the engine. The party hall windows throbbed with a song about sharing. Bill unfolded a napkin covered in crayon arrows and held it at arm’s length, as if it might explode. Through the window, a pyramid of wrapped boxes glittered under a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TIMMY. A child in a superhero cape was licking the cake. A hired clown honked a horn and looked professionally miserable. Molly counted six exits, four of them blocked by strollers. Bill folded the napkin into a hat. It collapsed. Molly frowned with visible disappointment. “Walk me through it again, Bill. Slowly. Last time you said simple, we ended up with a goat in the getaway car.” “The party starts at two fifteen. Twenty-seven kids, one clown, two prosecco mums pretending to supervise. We go in as entertainment.” “As what? You look like a debt collector who lost a fight with a piñata.” “I’m the magician. You’re the assistant. We wheel in the big box, I say abracadabra, and while I pull a rabbit out of a hat, you load every present into the box.” Molly stared at the napkin. “Every present?” “Every present. The table by the cake, the mountain by the coat rack, and the suspicious pile the birthday boy guards like a dragon with a trust fund.” “And the clown?” “Wild card. He does balloon animals and judges everyone. If he asks questions, distract him with a balloon sword.” “You want me to fight a clown with a balloon sword?” “I want you to look confident. It’s eighty percent confidence, fifteen percent timing, five percent not getting glitter on the evidence.” Molly lowered the window. The party hall smelled of icing and expensive shoes. “That math feels generous.” “Also, the bouncy castle is our exit. We cut the tie-downs, the castle rolls toward the fence, we surf it into the alley, presents secured.” “That’s not surfing. That’s being crushed by a moon bounce in front of toddlers.” “Details.” “Bill, we are stealing from a children’s party.” “We’re liberating excess consumer goods from a ritual of enforced generosity.” Bill tapped the napkin. “The flyer says bring a gift, leave with a smile. We’re just leaving with more gifts than smiles.” “And if the kids see us?” “Kids love chaos. We tell them it’s a game called Find the Presents Later.” “That is the worst game ever.” “It has stakes.” Molly checked the wing mirror. A clown was already tying balloon poodles to the fence. “What about the parents?” “They’ll assume we’re hired. Nobody questions a man in a cape carrying a box.” “You’re not wearing a cape.” “I’ve got a tablecloth in the back with ambition.” “And the birthday boy? The dragon with a trust fund?” “He’s four. We give him a juice box and a fake moustache. He’ll forget his own name.” Molly sighed and opened the glovebox. “Fine. But if I have to sword-fight a clown, you’re explaining it to the judge.” Bill grinned and reached for the sparkly waistcoat. “Deal. We’ve got a party to ruin tastefully.”