In my dream, I watch as Koh Copin is gunned down, shot dead just as he’s ladling broth into a bowl of noodles. He crumples immediately, tumbling face-first into the pot of steaming stock, and Cik Lani and her two flunkies drag his lifeless body away from the stove and lay him down on the restaurant floor. His head and face are garnished with strands of yellow egg noodles, vermicelli, and bits of leafy greens. His eyes look funny — wide open and bulging, as though in surprise, like the eyes of a grouper when it realizes it’s taken the bait.