Now some say that Billy Westland had escaped to some South American country on one of those banana-boats that frequent the north side of the harbor, some say that they’ve had a friend of a cousins friend seen him down in Bolivia snorting coke through a straw and impregnating prostitutes all day long. Some say that he'd actually never made it out of town; some say that he was caught when he stole the money from Chico; some say that he was found out only later, some say that he was probably being tortured like a rabbit caught stealing carrots, in some soundproof cellar out in the country.

They all agree on that the last they’ve heard from him was from a note on his kicked in brown-stained front door that read “I’ll be back later”, they all agree on that the police found no trace of him after the break-in and that his safe, which was impossible to get in to without the code, was opened and empty.

No one would ever guess that he’d actually gotten away with stealing the money, no one would ever guess that he was in fact still in town. No one had put any serious thoughts into the probability and later fact that his corpse was slowly disintegrating in a bathtub filled with acid in that closed down motel next to the interstate. Most people would probably laugh if they’d hear that there was only a pair of women’s underwear, a skirt, some perfume and a dildo that had been stolen from that empty safe.

He didn’t have any parents that were still alive and unwell, no family to speak and no other significant personal relations with anyone. Most of the mourning for him came from the chef at the Riley Diner who had to throw away a perfectly good Sloppy Joe when Billy didn’t come in for his usual eleven forty-three.

…

“Don’t stare in to the sun” was perhaps the most useful advice that his dad would ever give him and lord knows that Westland senior loved to give advice to that boy. Westland Senior didn’t actually have a first name, his dad had told him that all a man needs is a last name and some sort indication of where one stands in the family. Billy didn’t have a last name besides Westland Junior, when Senior would die he would become Senior, if Senior was still alive and unwell while Billy married and had children or had children in some other type of different way, then the first child would be called Westland Junior-Junior and so on.

Some folks I know, the ones that talk a lot about other folks, have this saying that you can’t know a man until you know his family, whether it is the one you’re born with or the one you get along the way they don't say. Most folks I know, the folk that listen to the talking folk, tend to agree.

Most people were happy that Billy didn’t become the walking cluster-fuck that most people expected him to become, not that they really knew him and if they would have known him they wouldn’t have had their inclinations any different. I guess it all comes down to knowing a thing or two about your neighbor, some say that that is all you need to know, more than that and you’ll pretty soon find out that you’re the weird one.

Billy’s uncle, his father’s Brother, Jamie Westland, was a frequenter at the Westland house, not because anyone liked him or because Jamie liked any of them, if anything Jamie Westland hated their guts more than anything. Fact of the matter is that Jamie had already burnt down the house with the family in it seven times by Billy’s fourth birthday, but since Jamie owned the house they never went to the police, besides, Jamie would always rebuild it or put a nice big trailer house on the charcoaled square in the grass.

Every time that Jamie burnt down the house, Senior would swear to god and the devil, the fire department and anyone else that were watching the house burn down that he was gonna save up some money and buy the house from Jamie and then shoot him for trespassing the next time he’d come by. By the time of Senior’s sixth such speech the town council put Jamie’s number on speed dial and had an accountant keep tabs on Senior’s financial situation.

There are many speculations as to why Jamie would burn down the house and some people say it is because he's a pyromaniac, some people say its because Jamie's real name is Westland Junior II. what most people don't know about is that Jamie didn't lose his left index finger to a wild turkey, most people could never have guessed that both of his scars on his obese head and the loss of his chubby finger were made with an electric bread knife and a broken bottle of Southern comfort by Senior after Jamie had cheated in a drunken game of "thumb War".

Now some people say that god had heard his prays when Senior’s house was lighting up the night sky like a Halloween pumpkin, other say that it was the devil that had bought Senior’s soul. Most folks are in agreement that as Jamie was going to burn the house down for the tenth consecutive time and year he had a heart attack and died in agony next to the mailbox named Westland. Most people agree that he was going to burn down the house once and for all to celebrate the tenth anniversary, most people agree that his body had been found with two gallons of gasoline, a box with nails, magnesium sticks, wood boards, chains and an empty bottle of Southern Comfort. Some people say that it seemed too convenient for him to die like that. Some say that Senior had murdered him.

To this day his wife, Kaitlynn, swears that that Jamie was only gonna fix Seniors garage and refill his cars with gas.

on his funeral day the whole town was in mourning and had put up big pink banners with “we miss you Junior II” painted in black that hung all about town. The sun hung in the sky like a keyhole to hell, which was just as well as most people were convinced that he was gonna end up there anyhow, “just follow the sun and you’ll be home” someone said quietly and others thought it silently.

After the service and two botched attempts of trying to fit the oversized casket into an undersized hole, the remaining Westlands started to walk towards the moving-van that they had hired, Fay, Senior’s wife climbed into the van while Senior and Junior stayed outside for a talk.

Fay was one of those rare dime-a-dussin trailer trash girls that had a certain charm about them that no man with fake-skin cowboyboots could easily disregard. The years had made her plumb and saggy, fastfood had bloated her a little bit as well, and now she struggled to fit all of herself into her seat in the van. She was a quiet women that shut-up most of the times when a good shut-up was probably the smartest thing to do, nor did she cry when Senior would come home after a binge and beat her with their soiled oven mitt. she kept to herself mostly and could always be counted on to be found either stitching, reading some soft core novel or with a gin and tonic in hand, her favourite pastime was to combine all three. Now she was looking out the window, curiously watching the last two Westland men and wondering whether they had time to pass by the liqour store and the book shop before they hit the interstate. she looked at Senior turning towards her and smile and then turning towards Junior, at that same time she was wondering whether or not the car keys were still in the car.

“you know he’s gone now” said senior, “I know” junior said.

“but why do we have to move, it aint fair” Junior said as he kicked a rat dying of heat exposure onto the main road. “This town gives me the chills, besides, people are starting to ask questions and making answers I don’t like” he said with disgust in his look and chewing tobacco in his right cheek, then he turned to Junior and pointed at the sun

“you know he’s up there, probably screaming down on us”,

“I know pa” said Junior, shifting his legs uncomfortably.

And then they stared into the sun for a moment, then they climbed into the van and drove off.

Senior never really did like to follow that same advice that he gave.