Chiaro had to pause to take in what the man had said. Vince, was his name, but Chiaro had never bothered to learn his last name. His brother Atticus had always engaged in the trade of souls, and was very well-known around the city. A familiar feeling rose in his chest, that of anger. Though he normally felt no emotion, anger was still a close friend to the demon who had none. He went back to his desk, grabbing his belt and clipping it on under his jacket. Sensing a faint chill run down his spine, Chiaro returned to the door and pushed Vince into the street and shut the door, running his index finger along the space between the door and jamb. It glowered with a faint purple-black tone, then faded. Quickly, he pulled Vince into the alley beside the library, away from any prying eyes.
“Dead.” Chiaro said. “Atticus is dead. How?” He glared at Vince, twisting his hair. The man was hardly as tall as him, and a little jumpy in his small black clothes. When he was silent at the question, Chiaro turned vicious. “Damn it, Vincent, how, how!?”
“I don’t know! We found him in his house an hour ago--”
“We? Vince, what do you mean we?”
“We as in… Well, I went to get the police.”
“Vincent, you fool!” Chiaro grabbed him and pushed him back, into the library’s wall halfway down the alley. “What have you done!? Bringing me to the scene of a murder when Atticus and I are in an illegal trading ring! Should I kill you, my boy?” He reached to his belt for something. “Are you really this stupid?”
“No! I didn’t tell them what you and he are involved in.” Vince’s smile had gone, replaced by wide eyes and trembling hands that held onto Chiaro’s wrist. “I only said you and he were business partners and working with a couple towns outside the city.”
Chiaro took a breath. Slowly, he released the weapon he had gone for, and stood back. “Vince, you never go after police until after I’ve been informed, especially since your brother is… was one of my best clients.” He pulled Vince along again, letting his mind clear before getting to the next street. It was a familiar sense, that which he felt. A trace of worry, or something that may have been worry in the past. Chiaro shook his head, getting that thought out of his head. Recalling emotion was to recall his first visit to Hell. It was not the most pleasant visit, and he had the scars to prove it. Still, he thought, he had something else to focus on: His dead partner in the soul-trade business. They stepped onto the next street, moving left and parallel to the police station itself.