Of course, they don't seem perilous; they're just Barbara Simons's second cousin Susan Porter and her childhood friend Joanne Cowan, crack TV investigative reporter. But Joanne, fresh from the dangerous embraces of lovesick mob capo Francesco Grandese, has this great idea: She wants Barbara to masquerade as a lesbian hoodlum to help her infiltrate a gang of gay men trying to raise money for their AIDS-stricken lovers by hijacking a shipment of cigarettes. And Susan has this terrible estranged husband Frank, who, not content with running around with a bimbo stew--sorry, flight attendant--has gotten himself slightly killed, leaving behind a monster stash of high-grade heroin Susan really needs to have Barbara take home with her. Barbara, just made redundant from her executive position with PanCanada Air, is in no position to refuse either friend, and ends up donning leather and studs for her role as Justine Durrell, the cigarette lady, and parking the heroin in her closet, which is such a mess no murderer could ever find it there. Finally, just to keep from getting bored, she takes time out from her long-distance lover Sam Levine to toy with the affections of young Sgt. Gregory Allard, the Montreal cop who's investigating Frank's killing. Susan Isaacs goes Canadian in this piquant first novel, with Barbara's breezy commentary and her cronies' unblinking, eternal adulteries more than compensating for the overstuffed, underconvincing double plot.