A woman walks into a pharmacy one afternoon, looking calm but determined. She approaches the counter and says to the pharmacist in a low, serious voice, “I need a poison. Something strong, fast-acting… and untraceable. It has to look like my husband died of natural causes.” The pharmacist blinks in shock, then quickly leans forward, whispering back,
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. In fact, I have a legal obligation to report this conversation to the authorities.” Without saying another word, the woman reaches into her purse, pulls out a folded photograph, and slides it across the counter.
The pharmacist picks it up, unfolds it, and his eyes go wide—it’s a clear shot of her husband in bed… with the pharmacist’s own wife. There’s a long,
pause. Then the pharmacist clears his throat and says,“Ah. I see you have a prescription. That changes everything.”
