For some years Cassill--teacher, lecturer, critic--has been addressing another audience with novels of doubtful chic depravity (Doctor Cobb's Game; La Vie Passionnee of Rodney Buck-thorne). This is not as homy beyond an occasional ""God, I need it""; in fact it's even sentimental--particularly in the relationship between pirate-moneyman Hoyt and his mistress of ten years, a beautiful as well as loyal woman who's been retrieving him from one mess after another. Hoyt's crudity is pretty unspeakable--he's really a pig who lives high on the hog--but then he does depart with a show of courage when he walks right into a bullet in an attempt to rescue his kidnapped daughter from the militant Movement (shades, at any rate tints, of Patty Hearst). Hoyt, by the way, had just opened a fabulously opulent luxury hotel in Mexico, El Dorado. That's where people go to read books like this--those mature Club Med graduates.