Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The man seemed to be a damned recluse. Perhaps his military experiences were just too traumatic. He could be suffering from some kind of PTSD that made it very hard for him to deal with people. Daz sighed. Was there any other angle to this that he could work? There always was, just not right now. Tomorrow he’d go searching for some other folks who might be easier to approach.

He was about to leave when a short, dirty and ragged man sidled up to him and perched with one cheek on the next stool.

“You got a minute?”

Daz shrugged. “Yeah, I ‘spose.”

“You’re that hard-hitting investigative reporter. I’ve seen you on TV. If you’ll buy me a beer, I think I can give you some leads to a real hummer of a story. It’s about these fires.”

Even though Daz figured he was going to be taken, a couple of beers would not break his budget. He signaled the bartender and ordered a second for himself and one for the stranger.