Wall Street's Frank Sullivan scrapped his way up from the slums by beating off assailants with a plank. (That's how the author lets us know he's a strong character.) Now he's on top of the world, sort of, with a promiscuous (but gorgeous) wife named Dina, a whole bunch of money, and a secretary of 25 years' standing who makes goo-goo eyes at him. But Frank's ratty partners are trying to steal his firm away. Bad news. And he also has lung cancer and a mistress who is Jewish. (""His friends would get a kick out of that. Screw them, he thought. Better still, screw her."") Very bad news. But worst of all, Frank has a business associate with a friend in the Mafia named Angi, to whom said associate sells Frank's Computer Ecolog stock. The stock promptly goes down, and that, as we all know from The Godfather, is a no-no. Angi is miffed. Since his motto in loan-sharking is ""The only way you cannot pay me is to die,"" we feel we're in for trouble. But that trouble never materializes. Nor does anything approaching an engrossing pop-novel, since Erikson fizzles along, defusing inconvenient characters by felling them with fatal heart-attacks and crippling strokes at every drop of the Dow Jones. Promiscuous Dina dispatches one bed-partner with an excessively passionate flick of her pelvis early on. And when a gunslinging financier from Texas (with an absurd burlesque of an accent) buys the firm and bails Frank out, it's time for Frank to join the convenient-fatality parade. You won't begrudge him his fade-out, though: even the inside stock market stuff can't provide enough zing to prevent the zzzzzzzz.