This is a Private Eye novel for the new century. Sam Spade never frequented a gay sauna, and Dashiel Hammett's heroines were never strippers with a sideline in murder. And there's a sub-plot of domination and bondage. Weird.
It also worried her, as the state of boredom settled intangibly over her life, that she missed the thrill of the chase and the kill. The blood lust. So, for the first time ever, there being no new book she was in desperate need of, and with her checking account still in generally healthy shape, Cornelis phoned her contact and made herself available for an assignment. There was always work for a trained assassin.