The pills are about the size of a bing-cherry pit in diameter and are a faint green color, like the eggs of some songbirds. On one side they have a deeply inscribed SZ, on the other, the number 789. They are Ritalin, the ten-milligram kind. Imogene knows them by sight because occasionally patients admitted to the psychiatric ward where she works as a nurse have containers of assorted pills, and she has learned to spot the ones that will get her high.
When Imogene discovers the ten Ritalin in the pill container attached to a new patient’s key chain, she deftly transfers them to a kleenex and tucks them under the waistband of her control-top panty hose. She then goes into the supply closet and slips four insulin syringes into her bra.
