Sticky stared moodily out the window. Rambling white-walled houses emerged from darkness in the Hyundai’s headlights, the walls gleaming like shellac. A lone drunk scurried off the road when the car honked once, sharply. A deserted marketplace; tin roofs, bare flagpole, a colonial statue, bits of trampled straw basket. Four tethered goats—their eyes shone red in the headlights like something out of a nightmare. "None of that proves anything against the Singapore Bank," Laura said.