Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #108)
Howdy, folks! Welcome back to our fun little story.
A catch up: Dr. Electro is a moody mad scientist. He moved to a small town to escape the bustle. His adventure pal Rutherford needs help solving a jewel heist, and came to collect him . Aware of sudden pursuit, they hop an eastbound night train. In the darkest corner of their boxcar, someone coughs.
The Return of Dr. Electro - #5: A Change of Plans
Rutherford leapt to his feet, flame aloft. The candle spluttered. “Who’s there, I say?” The feeble light failed to shoo away the inky shadows. A footstep rang on the steel floor of the boxcar, then another. The battered fedora of the stranger floated into view, his face bathed in darkness. The train pitched and clattered over another junction.
“Electro, this guy bothering you?” drawled a soft Tennessee accent.
“Walter! Is that you?” Electro bounded up, delighted. “You gave us a shake!”
“At your service, I reckon. Who’s the English bulldog?” Walter eyed Rutherford, who was lowering a hefty stick. “Tell him not to bark so loud ‘round these parts. People listen.”
Electro chuckled, relieved. “Rutherford, meet Walter - former detective, current wanderer and professional hobo. Walter, meet Rutherford, Britain’s finest, veteran, failed gentleman of leisure. He can’t sit still, and never relaxes.”
“Guilty as charged!” Rutherford extended his hand first. “Walter, my dear fellow, what brings you to these godforsaken rails at this hour?”
“Well...” The pause was long enough for the men to notice the train was slowing, clanking and grinding towards a stop. “You’re being followed closer than a gnat to a horses’ eye in July. Rumors travel fast ‘round here. I heard of the heist, too. Poor Lady Wilkes... I came to find Electro, but you got there first. The bartender at the Mangy Badger told me you left, as did a third man. I saw you both hop the train - and a shadow, too. He’s on this train. We’d best give him the slip. I know of a camp nearby, and the Santa Fe tracks aren’t far. That’ll be a better way to Chicago.”
Walter fell silent, setting back to work on a toothpick in his mouth. Electro and Rutherford looked at each other. The night wind rustled at the door, bringing the smell of a river. Walter chewed. They nodded. The train slowed to a squealing crawl. Three thuds later, and their boots crunched the trackside gravel.
“Quick! He’ll see us! ” Walter whispered. With a bound, they rounded a low wall.
Three hobos looked up from a campfire. “You’re late!” hissed the leader.
To be continued...