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goin’ on?”
    “You’re leaving now.”
    “Oh.” Flower Shirt’s brow creased. “Okay. I guess. Kinda tired all of a sudden.”
    He made no attempt to resist. A hush fell over the crowd. The other diners watched in silence as Luther guided Flower Shirt outside into the night.
    When the door closed behind them the noise level inside the Dark Rainbow went back to normal.
    “What’s going on?” Flower Shirt rubbed his eyes. “Where are we going?”
    “You’re going back to your hotel.”
    “Yeah?” There was no defiance in the word, just dazed confusion.
    Luther guided Flower Shirt through the small courtyard, steering him around the sickly-looking potted palms that Wayne had set out in a misbegotten effort to add a little authentic island atmosphere.
    It was going on ten o’clock. The proprietor of the gun club on the second floor had taken in the sign that promised tourists a Safe Shooting Environment, Real Guns, Factory Ammo and Excellent Customer Service. For reasons Luther had never fully comprehended, businesses that allowed visitors to the island the opportunity to shoot in indoor ranges thrived in Waikiki.
    The Red Skull Tattoo and Body Piercing Parlor and Zen Comics were also closed for the night but the rusty window air conditioners of the adult video arcade were grinding away as usual. It was the only way to know if the place was open. No light ever showed through the grimy, blacked-out windows of the arcade. The customers slipped in and out like so many wraiths, preferring the cover of darkness.
    Luther prodded his zombie-like companion beneath the antique wooden surfboard that marked the entrance to the courtyard and walked him along the narrow lane to Kuhio Avenue. At this hour there was plenty of traffic and the open-air restaurants and taverns were crowded.
    He debated taking Flower Shirt another block to Kalakaua, where the brilliantly lit windows of the high-end designer boutiques and the more upscale restaurants lured herds of visitors out into the balmy night. No need to go to the trouble, he decided. He could do what needed to be done right here.
    Unfortunately, it would do little good to merely dump Flower Shirt on the street. The effects of the suppression energy were short-lived. Luther knew that once he released Flower Shirt from the extreme ennui, the guy would bounce right back to whatever state was normal for him.
    When he came out of the fugue he would remember that his attempt to bait Ray had somehow stalled and that the bartender had gotten in his way. He would also recall that he had been escorted off the premises in an ignominious fashion by a gimp on a cane. Those memories would be more than enough incentive to bring him back to the Rainbow in search of revenge.
    Fear was one of the most primitive emotions, a core survival instinct that, like all such instincts, was hardwired into the brain. That meant it was experienced across the spectrum of the senses from the normal straight into the paranormal. It was also one of the easiest emotions to trigger, if you had the knack. And once triggered, it tended to hang around for a while.
    Bullies comprehended fear well because they spent so much time in-stilling it in others.
    Luther took a breath and let it out slowly. He wasn’t looking forward to this part but a bartender does what a bartender’s got to do.
    He went hotter, revving up his senses. Then he turned his unresisting zombie so that Flower Shirt faced the entrance to the lane that led to the Rainbow.
    “You don’t ever want to go down there,” he said. “Folks in that little restaurant are all crazy. No telling what they’ll do. Like walking into a room full of nitroglycerin. You’re way too smart to go back.”
    He accompanied the words with little pulses of energy aimed at the latent fear points on Flower Shirt’s paranormal spectrum, deliberately stirring and arousing as many as he could identify. There was a reason for the term “panic button.” He tweaked and