"Who is Jabo?"
"He's the boss of that area over there. You don't look new. How did you end up here?"
"I'm a reporter," Clark answered honestly.
"I'm not asking what your job is. I'm asking how you got here."
"I'm an investigative reporter. I came here while looking for someone as part of an investigation into illegal immigrants."
"But there are no illegal immigrants here," the old man said. "We're all Americans. You must have come to the wrong place."
Clark found that strange. The old man spoke in a remarkably organized manner. He neither cursed constantly nor sounded unpleasant in his wording or tone. He did not seem like a homeless man at all.
Seeing Clark's expression, the old man seemed to understand. Then he said, "How about this? Give me some money, and I'll tell you about it. You probably won't be able to publish it, but at least it'll satisfy your charitable heart."
"But..." The old man looked at the baby's corpse in the pit. "Don't bury that thing here. It'll be dug up again before long. If you really care, take him farther away. Bury him in some desolate mountain if you have to."
"Are there coyotes or anything nearby?" Clark asked.
"This is the city. There aren't any Beasts around. Otherwise, so many people wouldn't be setting up tents here." The old man beckoned for him to follow. Clark picked up the body again and followed him to the yellow tent.
A lamp was lit inside the tent, casting a touch of warmth into the night. The old man spread out a blanket at the entrance and pulled a bottle of liquor from his bag. Clark sat down as well, never once setting aside the bag containing the corpse.
"Let's start with what interests