For one reason or another (Jack Lemmon, for instance) Save the Tiger did much better as the film for which it was originally intended and one supposes that the prime feature of Shagan's books is that they combine some outstanding sex (where even ""testicles tighten up"") with a certain amount of sentimentality designed to palp the muscle of your heart as well as that other one. The City of Angels is of course the Hollywood we know and love so well with its ""pus-colored"" smog and other pollutants -- drugs -- dirty pictures -- catered flesh -- and the story here is essentially a simple one. A young girl, Gloria Hollinger, who'd been popping Seconals and had stripped in a sex joint, is found dead on the beach. Phil Gaines, Tactical Division of the L.A. Police, ""a real cub scout"" with lots of brownie points for that kind of bitter, brutal attractiveness he can display (particularly to Nicole, a classy call girl who's really all his) handles the case, watches the girl's justifiably out-to-kill father hit the main offender, and clears him. . .for the nonce. Shagan, with a glass-house vulnerability, refers to any purveyor as a scumbag -- and purvey he does but then there's that shameless readability factor.