After finding no one keeping an eye on the dumpsite, and no boobytraps on the body, O'Connor pulled Angus' corpse from out behind the dumpster. He checked the body for anything else the Fists might have left besides their message. After which O'Connor tossed the corpse into the dumpster. He went to the nearest store, or what passed for one at any rate, and returned with lighter fluid and flammable materials. A dumpster fire cremation was the closest things he could give the hobo in way of a proper funeral. At least the devil rats and ghouls wouldn't be able to get at him this way. He cracked open a 40, poured a bit out for Angus and took a long swig, "The next Fist I kill will be for you." O'Connor wasn't the sentimental type by any means, and he didn't even know Angus on a personal level. But the hobo was dead because him, so he figured he owed Angus a send off and some blood spilled in his name.
He tossed a lit match into the dumpster and watched the conflagration light up. He instantly regretted deciding on cremation. Panic made his chest tighten as he reflexively shied away from the flames. He retreated back to his car and drove off. He pulled over a few blocks later, breathing heavy, *The fragging hell was that? What's wrong with me?* Introspection wasn't a skill O'Connor was well versed in. So instead, he decided to drop a tab of Zen and let the drug wash away his fear.
After letting the Zen kick in, O'Connor returned home to rest and prepare for his training with Barefoot. He put a reminder in his comm about the Italian food. He had a feeling that if he forgot she would escalate things from stun bolts to lightning bolts.