After finishing up with Ulrich, O’Connor drove Darrell back to his shop, along the way talking more in-depth about the projects he was commissioning. After dropping the dwarf off, O’Connor began scouring the area, Wonder how long it’s gonna take to find a semi-sane hobo? After a considerable search, O’Connor found what he was looking for, a hobo with an exploitable vice, but still lucid enough to follow semi-complex instructions. The hobo was nondescript as far as hobos went: filthy and matted brown hair, bloodshot brown eyes, grim covered, and smelly as shit. O’Connor reigned in his disgust of those weak enough to become like the said hobo, “Yo, got a deal for you. Keep tabs on the Azure Fists and I’ll help pay for your fix. If you’re interested, come here on Wednesdays, starting now, at three in the afternoon. If I’m here, I’m here. If I’m not, I’m not. Though if I’m here and you’re not, deals off. There’s also a bonus in it for you if you find info on a certain member of the A.F.” After the hobo, going by the name of Angus, agreed to the deal, O’Connor gave him the description of the ganger chick that survived his impromptu attack, “Find her, and I’ll pay out enough for you to O.D. on.”
After finishing his business with the hobo, O’Connor returned to his apartment for the first time in days. He was mildly, and pleasantly, surprised that his apartment, and the whole complex by extension, hadn’t been burnt down in his absents. He made his way down the hallway casually. O’Connor took pleasuring in seeing his next door neighbor, a beetle head by the name of Gritz, scurry into his apartment at the sight of him. Gritz gave O’Connor a wide berth after he broke the chiphead’s arm for causing a loud enough ruckus to wake up the entire floor at three in the morning a few weeks back.
O’Connor collapsed on his coach and breathed a sigh of relief. After spending the last several days trekking over the wilderness, navigating the convoluted trail the last run left, and a few days healing up, it was nice to sit down and just breathe. As quick as that feeling of contentment came, it left. As nice as it was, idle moments weren’t ideal for O’Connor. It let his thoughts wonder, for instance they currently fell on the soured relations between him and Clem. He was still angry at her for trying to steal Darrell’s shotgun, but it was a situation he’d created. He’d essentially left a fat kid, by themselves, in a candy shop. If the situation was reversed, he’d probably have done the same thing.
If he’d been clear headed at the time, he probably won’t have drawn a gun on her. At the time though, he’d had a bust rib cage for two days, dragged her across several blocks with said ribs, and then essentially been spit in the face by her flippant attitude towards being caught trying to rob his best friend. Despite all that, he recognized she’d been one of the few people in a long while to show him any measure of comradery. After steeling himself he called Clem, if she answered or it went to voice message his message was essentially the same, “Hey Clem…it’s O’Connor. Yeah, I know we didn’t leave off on the best of terms. I won’t apologize for being pissed off that you tried to rob my best friend, but...I’m…I’m willing to admit that I could’ve handled it better. Anyway, I have biz to talk. If ya wanna meet, cool. If not…whatever.”
