Taz took a deep breath. The cool morning air tasted like freedom. Mel was leaning against the rusty hood of his Jeep, twirling his keys in his fingers with an idle smile. Against his better judgment, Taz grinned. He loved Mel’s nonchalance; the man never looked out of place anywhere, even with that lurid Hawaiian shirt. If he so chose, he could probably crash any event from a wedding to a Thanksgiving dinner to a drug deal and just be accepted as part of the scenery; someone-or-other’s uncle or grandpa. It was probably why Mel had never gotten caught. That and good judgment.
Taz crossed the parking lot and embraced his best friend. “Retirement looks good on you.”
“It would have looked good on you too, old man.”
Taz grunted. “Let’s get going.”
There was sand on the seat of the Jeep. Mel started the engine, took a swig from a beer bottle in the front cup holder, and turned up the radio. Jimmy Buffet. Some things never changed.
“Got a bundle of clothes in the back for you.”
“Thanks.” Taz spoke up to be heard over the wind. He wasn’t sure he believed that the jeep actually had windows. If it did, Mel had probably forgotten how to roll them up.
He reached into the backseat and found a black tee, jeans, and soft canvas shoes. He felt a rush of affection for the pretentious sixty year old beach-boy in the driver’s seat. Wherever these clothes came from, it certainly wasn’t Mel’s closet. Even back in Detroit, he’d always dressed like he was on a cruise ship. It was Taz who preferred dark, nondescript colors, and it meant a lot to him that Mel had remembered. Actually, Mel remembered everything, but it meant a lot that he cared enough to find clothes Taz would feel comfortable in. He unzipped his orange jumpsuit and pulled the tee over his head. Even the size was right.
“Where to first?” Mel called.
Taz slipped into the jeans. “You’re driving.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the escaped convict.”
“Yeah, well, it’s your birthday.”
“Right you are. Let’s go to the beach.”
“Mh. Which one?”
“State Park. Unless you know a better place.” It was hard to be sure with the sunglasses, but Taz could feel Mel glancing his way.
“I do know a better place. Turn right on Lincoln.”
Mel complied. “Nice to be back in your hometown?”
“I’ve been back for almost six years now.”
“Incarceration doesn’t count. This is gonna be the first time you’ve seen Lake Michigan in decades.”
“Mh. I’ve flown over it.”
“Some people just don’t know how to enjoy things,” Mel grumbled under his breath. Taz allowed himself a small smile. Despite his casual style and day-drinking habit, Mel was so tightly wound. He was convinced that he was right about everything and he liked to convince everyone else, too. Taz trusted him completely, but it was so fun to mess with Mel.
In the old days, Taz and Chuck had made a habit of defending undeniable facts with ludacris logic just to see if they could make a vein in Mel’s forehead pop. Taz missed Chuck. He would’ve enjoyed the prison break.
An old man on a motorcycle roared past them, disregarding the road’s double yellow lines entirely. His long gray hair waved in the wind, and he raised one leather-gloved hand as he zipped by. Taz waved back.
Mel raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”
“He and a crew of his buddies busted out with me.”
“Now, why would they do a thing like that?”
Taz knew what Mel was really asking, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer it. “They said they wanted to feel the sun on the back and the wind in their beards. Who was I to deny them?”
“And you believed that off-into-the-sunset story?”
“Oh, they won’t get far. I’m willing to bet they’ll be back in prison by tomorrow night, telling tall tales to all their friends. I’ll probably hear about it for the next five years or so.”
“So you’re planning on going back to prison?”
Taz paused for a moment. This was the sort of thing that Mel and all his cunning just wouldn’t understand. “I think I’ll go back tomorrow.”
“Why in the hell—” Mel stopped himself. “It’s no use trying to talk you out of it, I suppose.”
“No use at all.”
Mel took a deep breath, then another. “Right. So, how far away is this beach?”
“Three more miles. You got anything to drink around here besides that cat piss?”
“Some people,” Mel sighed. Taz knew he was rolling his eyes behind those dark sunglasses.
When they got to the beach, Mel slipped something into his pocket and downed the remainder of his beer. Taz led the way through the parking lot toward the water, enjoying the smell of the air and the sound of Mel’s flip-flops on the asphalt. The lake didn’t hold any emotional significance to him, but it was a damn sight nicer than prison.
Mel pulled a Kodak film camera out of his pocket. “Look here.”
“What is that?”
“What do you think?”
“What are you doing?”
“Say, ‘freedom!’”
Taz ran a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly very disheveled. “Are you sure about this?”
“You look great.” Mel squinted behind the camera.
“I look like I just broke out of prison.”
“Yeah, well, that’s cause you did. Steal the lighthouse.”
“You want me to -”
“You heard me. Hand out. Steal the lighthouse.”
Taz obliged, feeling foolish. He hoped no one would see these pictures.
Mel laughed, then slung an arm around Taz’s shoulders, pointing the camera at them both. “Say, ‘escape!’”
Taz laughed, which surprised him. He hadn’t laughed in a while.
Both men turned their heads at a loud revving noise in the parking lot, followed by the squeal of police sirens. Squinting, Taz watched one of the motorcyclists he’d broken out with get hauled into the back of a cop car, cussing like a sailor.
Mel was staring at him intently. “You’re really going to go back?”
“Yeah.” It was a moral obligation, and a point of professional pride. Taz had done sloppy work and he’d gotten caught. He should have known that he was more vulnerable without Mel and Chuck at his side. He deserved to go back. Mel would argue that the skillful escape negated getting caught, but Taz’s internal compass said otherwise, so he didn’t tell Mel what was going through his mind.
“But you aren’t going back yet.”
“No.” Taz didn’t care all that much for the world outside – except for Mel. When the three of them had first met, he would never have thought they’d make it to sixty. Of course, Chuck hadn’t made it, but Taz was here and Mel was here and they were laughing, and that felt sacred. After all the hard years, Mel deserved a nice birthday with his oldest friend. Of course, Taz wouldn’t say that aloud either.
“So, what do you want to do now?”
“Smoothies? I know a place.”
Maggie Haeussler