you I think."
"I doubt it," Margaret said, "most people don't, they are put off."
"Why?"
"I'm a psychiatrist," she said, "I get under people's skin, and it can get on people's nerves. It's hard to turn it off really, I am very good at getting information out of people, but not so good at giving it."
"Hence why you are avoiding answering my earlier question perhaps."
"Perhaps, anyway, moving on rapidly, so my husband, if I had one, who I loved, has been murdered."
"Yes, what would you do?"
"It depends."
"What on?" this was getting more complex than Stan's drunken mind could come to terms with, he felt like he had the mental faculties of a three year old.
"Do I know who killed him?"
"No."
"Ok, I'd go to the police?"
"And if they were not interested."
"Then I would want to know why they were not interested," she paused, "so why aren't they Stan?"
"I don't know, I really don't, they say it is out of their jurisdiction, but still, she was killed in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of witnesses."
"Ok, so, you only have a few alternatives, you can go on with your life, and get over it."
"Not a good option, my life is now officially shit. It was shit before and it was only her that made it less shit."
"Or, you can drink yourself into an early grave."
"Any other alternatives, while that one appeals, I'm not sure I have the funds for it."
"Or, you could try to find out who the murderer is yourself, but.."
"But.."
"Well life isn't a film Stanley," although Margaret knew that quite often it felt like it. Her life for example over the last few weeks had been more than a little cinematic, "and you don't strike me as the Columbo, Jim Rockford, Sherlock Holmes type."
"No, so that just leaves me with option 2."
"I'm afraid so, look," she said, reaching into her bag and giving him a card, "come and see me, next week, I might be able to help."
"I think Margaret," Stan said, "when it is obvious that I don't have enough funds to drink myself to death, I am pretty sure that you are far more than I could afford."
"The first three sessions are free," she said, "then we can talk about the cost, give me a call. I have enough high paying clients to do a favour every once in a while, you'll make a change from some of the nut bags and freaks I have to deal with. I could do with a normal, screwed up human being, you can be my coffee break."
"Thanks," Stan said, pushing his seat back, leaving money of the tab of the bar.
"Go home Stan," Margaret looked at him. I'll never see him again she thought, "go home."
Stan smiled, pocketed her card and left the bar, but he didn't go home.
In fact Stan never went home again.
Chapter 5 - Margaret meets someone special
Margaret Mason had had one hell of a difficult week. Starting as it did with the suicide of the world's most powerful superhero in her office, and ending with a visit at 4.30 that day from her latest and possibly least stable client.
She had really needed a drink.
She really needed ten or twelve drinks, and maybe some meaningless sex.
Meaningless sex, now that would be nice.
Watching Stan leave the bar for a moment she felt sad, then as she had been trained to do she put him, and his problems to one side. Professional detachment was something she had mastered years ago, so nowadays she sometimes found it at the bottom of a bottle of beer, well she wasn't complaining.
She could listen for hours to other peoples worries, understand them, help them, and then ten minutes later have difficulty remembering any of it.
Sometimes she could barely remember their names.
That used to be true anyway.
Now, with the death of The Guardian, it appeared that her life was taking a slightly different course,