Glib, trashy page-turner with eight murders, double that many sex scenes, and a cop working up a sweat tending his marijuana garden: this could only be Beverly Hills. Homicide's Nicky Rachmaninoff (The Left-Handed Policeman) is on overload--with temporary custody of daughter Tanya; a passionate affair with ex-wife Susan, the famous TV star; and a video jockey's murder that included stuffing the guy's genitals into a garbage disposal. Who's capable of such niceties? Nancy Normal, his lesbian housemaid with a Mafia uncle? Unity Sphere, his nymphet replacement on the Rock Channel? Or members of his former vocal group, The Perceptions, those 60's superstars who disbanded when lead singer Billy Lion died in Rome? Maybe it's Billy Lion himself, back from the dead. In the process of finding out, Nicky shoots a poodle, wrangles with the FBI, is taken off the case, flies to Hawaii, lunches at the Bistro with Susan's current husband (who's toting a gun), rides in a white Limo with a Family member (in more ways than one), and attends the Grammy's, where he shoots it out with the perp before the detonator blows the entire rock-and-roll industry to Catalina. Unbelievable: that Nicky, the worst shot in the history of the police academy, should suddenly become target-perfect. Westbrook could write a better book, and Nicky deserves one.