“He doesn’t like you,” the stubby human informed Luke in a surprisingly deep voice. “I’m sorry about that,” Luke admitted, wishing heartily he were somewhere else. “I don’t like you, either,” the smiling little man went on with brotherly negativity. “I said I was sorry about it.” Whether from the conversation it was having with the rodentlike creature or the overdose of booze, the apartment house for wayward eyeballs was obviously growing agitated. It leaned forward, almost toppling into Luke, and spewed a stream of unintelligible gibberish at him. Luke felt the eyes of a crowd on him as he grew increasingly more nervous. “ ‘Sorry,’ ” the human mimicked derisively, clearly deep into his own cups. “Are you insulting us? You just better watch yourself. We’re all wanted.” He indicated his drunken companions. “I have the death sentence on me in twelve different systems.” “I’ll be careful, then,” Luke muttered. The little man was smiling broadly. “You’ll be dead.”