I led Turtle down by the docks to an industrial district not far from some major truck routes, to a place called Bob’s Cartage and Freight, No. 4, at 401 Squid Street. Bob’s had been my home for the last three months, and a lot of other street people hung out there as well, as many as two or three dozen at a time. People came and went according to their own inclinations or Goob’s arbitrary decisions. It was a huge building, but nothing too different from a score of other warehouses in the district—mostly corrugated tin walls with some stone and wood reinforcements and a few windows in the front. Huge aluminum doors, now shut, showed where semis and other trucks could drive right into the building to unload. A weather-laded sign indicated that business hours were long over for the day. I took him around back to an auxiliary entrance beside another loading dock. I rang the buzzer, and a videocam swung around to focus on us.