Reading more like a stretched-out short story than a novel, this Wall St. scare tale is narrated (with some macho/ho-ho excesses) by 40-year-old, unhappily wed Bobby Reed, chief trader for a bond brokerage house--who one day starts getting phone calls from a crackly-voiced, anonymous tipster. ""I'm your. . . fairy godmother,"" says the voice, which then goes on to give Reed inside top-top-secret info on the Federal Reserve Bank's upcoming money supply figures. With this data, of course, Reed starts making big bucks--lust for his firm, then for himself (through fake-name accounts, with help from sexy mistress Janet); he also city-hops, making periodic cash drop-offs to the elusive Godmother. But when Reed grows uneasy and tries to get free of the arrangement, the Godmother nearly bankrupts him, then blackmails him with jail threats. So the scare goes on, and only when $4 million has been amassed does the Godmother call it quits: there's a final splitting of the secret-account loot down in the Bahamas--where, after a short chase, Reed finally learns the real (not very surprising) identity of the Godmother. Rickety little plot, half-likable hero, breezy delivery Ã la Erdman: a foolish but harmless mini-diversion for vicarious speculators.