They met the madam in the parking lot. What was her name? Frank wonders now. Karen, that was it. She drove up in a Mercedes 500 convertible, and the bank officer leaned out the window of the limo to give her the cash. When they were driving away, the guy said, “I have an M.B.A. in finance from Wharton, and this is what I’ve become—a pimp.” What was that guy’s name? Frank asks himself now. Sanders—no, Saunders—John Saunders, another WASP who was shocked and appalled that his hands got dirty. Frank didn’t bother to tell him that pimps didn’t pay money; they took it. And that Saunders wasn’t a
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