“Get out of my way, bartender, unless you want a fist in your face.”
He grabbed Luther’s arm, intending to shove him aside. That was a mistake. Physical contact intensified the force of the energy that Luther was using.
Flower Shirt swayed a little and nearly lost his balance. He grabbed the edge of the table to keep himself upright.
“What?” he got out. “I think I’m sick or something.”
“Don’t worry about the bill,” Luther said. He took hold of Flower Shirt’s arm and steered him toward the door. “The drinks are on the house.”
“Huh?” Flower Shirt shook his head, unable to focus. “Wh-what’s 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 fiddled until Flower Shirt was sweating and shaking and staring into the dark lane as though it were the gate to hell.
With luck, when he recovered from the experience, the memory of the lane and the Dark Rainbow would be inextricably linked to a subliminal sense of deep unease. Flower Shirt would never be able to explain it; probably wouldn’t even try. But if he happened to pass this way again, he would instinctively avoid the lane. That was how fear worked on the psychic level. Usually.
The problem with trying to establish a fear response was that there was always the possibility that it would backfire on you. Some people felt compelled to confront their fears. But in Luther’s experience that wasn’t true of the bully mentality.
He eased off the psychic pressure. Flower Shirt calmed.
“You want to go back to your hotel room,” Luther said. “Had a little too much to drink tonight. Go sleep it off.”
“Yeah, right,” Flower Shirt whispered, anxious now. “Too much booze.”
He hurried toward the intersection and crossed the street. He disappeared around the corner, heading toward Kalakaua and the safety of the bright lights of the beachfront hotels.
Luther leaned heavily on his cane, feeling the dark weight of what he had done. He hated this part. There was always a price to pay when he used his talent on someone like Flower Shirt.
The bastard may have deserved what he got but the reality was that the battle had been unequal from the get-go. He never stood a chance; never even knew what hit him.
Yeah, that part sucked.
TWO
After they closed the restaurant for the night they followed their usual custom and walked down Kuhio to the Udon Palace. Milly Okada, the proprietor, brought them huge bowls filled with steaming, aromatic broth and plump noodles. She gave Luther a knowing look when she set the soup down in front of him.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine, Milly.” Luther picked up the chopsticks. “I just need some of your udon, that’s all. Been a long night.”