The Secrets Time Tells

A new serial short story

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The Secrets Time Tells

So this is what he did. 

He called the number on the fence at Happy Hollow and Huntsville Road and left a message about the 1984 Silverado. Brown. Rust above the right wheel well. No sooner had he hung up, his phone rang. Six Thousand, cash, firm. 

"You can come pick it up Sunday after they boys finish replacing the mess of wires the mice chewed through," the man said.

"I'll send my son to pick it up. Name is Isaac. You can sign the title over to him." Then, he hung up.

Next, he logged onto his email account, an encrypted burner account set by Isaac and laced with the brand nonchalant humor Isaac had honed for his alter-ego. He opened up a new message, typed in a to address, which was also provided by Isaac.