I grabbed a armful of cans then hurriedly walked towards the Washington prospect. Put the cans in the cart, then went through the line normally. I put the cans in one of the prospects bigger bikes saddle bags, then started up and followed the rest back to the club house. When we got back there was a hearse in the parking lot. All the bikes were started. We ran the supply's inside then got back outside and got on our bikes and continued to the funeral.When the funeral was done the other prospects and I proceeded to a hotel. When I arrived I was being called by a unknown number. "Hello?" I spoke into the phone. "Hey this is Kate, i was wondering if I could come talk to you, in person." she replied. "Sure, umm I'm at the Red lion outside of Seattle, room 44B." I said. "Ok I'll be over In a bit." then she hung up. After about 15 minutes she finally showed up, wearing skinny jeans and a tank-top, her hair a mess and make-up running down her cheeks. She ran and gave me a hug, knocking me. If it wasn’t already too late. An hour had already gone by since I awakened from my pickled state. If Joey had been shot, he could have already bled to death by now, and that’s only if whoever shot him hadn’t finished him off beforehand. The one thing that comforted me about that was the fact it couldn’t have been a pickle who had fired the weapon. That meant it was unlikely that Joey had been the target.I looked up for some divine inspiration or, even better, a miracle. After nothing immediate happened, I sighed and closed my eyes with the image of the 45 degree slope of the backside of another rise of stairs above the one leading to the fourth floor fading from my eyes.I snapped my eyes open, whispering to myself, “Stairs? Stairs that go where?”I climbed up the rest of the steps to the fourth floor and peering up to where the steps rose to.“The roof,” I happily answered myself before scrambling up that single flight.The landing above had a metal ladder that went up to a hatch ....
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