"Well, I uh, I know that." The man stammers. "It's three in the morning. You wouldn't be open...other..."
The rhythmic click click of frustrated talons on wood reaches your harrowed ears.
"...wise." He clears his throat, bowler hat in hand.
"Like I said, I need your services."
The bright lights of the city squirm through the venetian blinds like personified evil.
Cold, calculating and reptilian in more ways than one, the P.I. responds.
"Lots of people need my services. What makes you different?"
"I'm different, because of what I can offer." He digs into his pockets and retrieves a dainty wallet. The raptor smiles and nods as clasp clicks open.
"I come from a very rich family, you see." A dozen hundred dollar bills, all neatly folded to fit the confines of the decidedly feminine wallet.
The raptor tucks his revolver, a veritable handcannon, into it's holster. You take notice of his lovely plaid sweater and continue.
"My father, he was a Broadway star. Recently he moved into moving pictures. Last week, I received a letter. It's, it's..."
The predatory, cybernetic eyes show sympathy at your trouble. He pulls the letter, folded like a delicious pastry, out of his purse. Wallet. Container.
A talon reaches out and grabs it.
"Was it folded like this when you got it?"
"What? No, that'd be stupid. I fold everything that I put in my wallet. It's pretty and saves space."
The detective sighs and unfolds the paper.