Here's an economic tip for President-elect Clinton: forget all that retraining hoopla, and send America's unemployed to Boston, where there's always room for another two-fisted, tough-talkin' cynical shamus. You'd think Spenser, Tom Bethany, Carlotta Barnes, and a handful of others could handle all of Beantown's sleuthing needs, but, no, there's even room for such amateur crime solvers as lawyer Brady Coyne and oral surgeon Doc Adams. No surprise, then, that one more PI has just hung out his shingle. Nason Nichols, here making his first appearance, is suitably two-fisted and tough-talkin' as well as fortysomething, recently divorced, and something of a wise guy. He's hired to look into the disappearance of Bruce Platt, a key creative force at the high-tech computer company Zoltec Industries. Soon enough Platt turns up dead, and the trail leads directly to Armand Zoller, the founder of Zoltec. Nichols, more likely to rely on nerve than muscle, flails his way through a complex of motives that run the gamut from greed to lust to ambition. Boston's mayor Flynn should consider new signs to great tourists: "Welcome to the Home of the 16-Time World Champion Celtics . . . and a lot of really good fictional private eyes."