Insert Chassis Albuquerque: The Butterfly Effect - Chapter 2: "Film Gig"

The Butterfly Effect - Chapter 2: "Film Gig"

Wolffe had a meet the other side of town, a film crew shooting an instructional video on: “How To Be A Private Investigator”.
It was a good gig, $120 a shoot plus future royalties from purchases or rentals.
On set they took a few shots of Wolffe demonstrating to viewers how to emerge from the shadows under a street light like people always do in the movies.
“You get all that…?” Wolffe said.
He was feeling pretty good and did a few more takes “on the house”, just in case.
Then they interviewed him, Wolffe with his trench coat and hat on, seated on a bar stool, the heel of his shoe resting on one of the rungs and the trench coat pulled to one side so viewers could see the Colt Python in its holster.
“Detective Gunstormer, why is it important for potential Private Investigators to be able to emerge from the shadows in that manner? And when would you employ this particular maneuver?”
“Very useful anytime you wanna confront someone, catch them off-guard or, say maybe surprise a pretty lady-subject as she’s walking through a rough neighborhood on the way home.”
 ”And is it an advanced maneuver best suited for fully qualified, experienced investigators? Or can the beginner private detective employ it…?”
“It’s versatile enough for deployment at any level. I recommended beginner detectives master it almost immediately.”
The cameraman zoomed in on Wolffe and Wolffe looked into the camera as his face framed the shot, his hat pushed up from his forehead.
“So, to recap, just remember: Whenever emerging from the shadows it’s useful to ensure the right lighting. Nothing too illuminating but also sufficient enough light to help conceal you until the right moment. Until next time…” 
Wolffe stood up from the stool and walked off, the camera following him into the distance.
“Cut…! That’s a wrap! Good job, Detective…!” the Director said.
Wolffe leisurely walked back to his offices at the Boston Manor Motel, a seedy joint as joints go with a suite of offices on the ground floor where Wolffe - along with a laundromat and office supply company - also had his office. There was a new sign up outside the motel: FOR SALE. Wolffe thought he might put in an offer. Up a flight of stairs from the back of his office Wolffe could access his apartment above the office. There was a message on the phone for him, a woman’s sultry voice: “Detective, this is Susannah Strychnine. I’ve been given your name by an acquaintance - if you wouldn’t mind giving me a call, urgently? Thank you.”
The number was Manhattan, so definitely money.
Wolffe did a little digging around: Susannah Strychnine was an incredibly wealthy socialite whose billionaire father had been so wealthy he thought he didn't have to indicate when turning in traffic - money excused him from any accountability. He was t-boned and killed when - without bothering to indicate - he sauntered across three lanes of a highway to make a turn.
So maybe the woman wanted to know why her father, a billionaire, hadn’t had a driver to chauffeur him around. Maybe she suspected at some kind of coercion that had resulted in her father’s death?
However, Susannah Strychnine was not her father.
Still, she was very, very rich and money, money made Wolffe uncomfortable.
He itched his neck.